Thirteen Days
by Starr Dust
Summary: A child is kidnapped while coming to terms with the death of his father. Slash, Mylar.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Thirteen Days  
**Pairing:** Sylar/Mohinder, Peter/Mohinder  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg

**Chapter 1**

Manu felt sick. He still couldn't wrap his mind around how quickly his whole life had changed. It seemed like only a moment ago he had been walking home from school, irritated at the knowledge that his father had forgotten to come get him--he hated remembering those thoughts, hated himself for feeling that way when not long ago it had all felt so justified--only to walk through the front door to find the only parent he had ever known lying face first on the cold ground. His mind reeled as his whole world came crashing down around him.

Time shifted, seeming to move faster and slower all at once. His body had felt as if it were no longer in his control as he rushed over to the fallen man, shaking his shoulders and calling his name in a desperate attempt to revive him. He'd been convinced that it had all been a joke--an ill conceived, uncharacteristic prank--yet when he received no response and felt the coldness of his father's skin he knew that this was all too real. The next thing he knew, he was scrambling over to the phone, feeling his fingers dialing faster than his mind could even process.

Time crawled by at a painfully slow pace as Manu waited for help to arrive--the sight of his father's prone figure making his heart beat quicken, making his stomach clench tightly and jump into his chest--but when they did they were no more successful than he had been at reviving his father. He was gone.

The doctors told him that there had been nothing that he could have done. He had been at school when his father had had his heart attack. It was sudden. No one could have seen it coming.

He remembered the way his heart had tightened at the thought. It wasn't right. His father wasn't supposed to die. Not like this. The man had only been in his mid forties. He had had many years and an entire career ahead of him. Yet now there was nothing.

Time slowed down then. Minutes crawled by at a snail's pace as he sat in the waiting room feeling lost and alone. The nurses took pity on him, giving him constant attention and asking him questions. Was he alright? Did he want anything to eat? Anything to drink? Did he feel sleepy at all? Although the child appreciated their concern, he wanted nothing more than to be left alone with his thoughts.

He was thankful when his grandmother came for him. He remembered the way she had held him closely as he cried openly into her blouse. She had told him that everything was going to be alright. Told him that his father would be fine--he was with grandfather now--but he would have to be strong now. He was the only man left in the family.

The day of the funeral snuck up on him quickly. Manu felt as if he had just rolled out of bed (after a night left without sleep) and had been instantly wrapped in his funeral attire. He watched through red, unblinking eyes as the funeral service was carried out before him. His stomach churned as he saw his father's friends and colleagues gather around his still, lifeless body.

His father's eyes had been closed now, and for that Manu was eternally thankful. He knew that if he had seen those glassy, unfocused orbs, he'd completely lose control of himself. (Those unblinking eyes, already hazy with death, were still etched into his mind.) His whole body began to shake as he watched them anoint his father. Soon he would have to do his part. His one duty as the eldest (or in this case, only) son. He would have to walk around the pyre three times and sprinkle water into it. He'd have to speak his last words to his father in front of all these people, strangers in his eyes, and then never seen the man who had taken care of him, who'd given him life, again.

Stomach, heart, mind all began to twist and churn at the prospect. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't accept that it would have to end this way. It wasn't fair, not to him or his father.

It was then, while no one was watching, that Manu ran.

-+-+-+-

Manu was surprised that he'd managed to slip away from the service so easily. It took a good while before the sound of his heart churning in his ears quieted just long enough so that he could hear that no one was following him. Yet that did not stop him from running as fast as he could down the beach. All that he was hoping for was to get far away from the funeral. He just wanted to hide long enough to avoid the judgmental eyes of the other mourners.

His legs started to burn as his face soon became flushed. Deep inside, Manu knew that what he was doing was stupid, childish, and completely disrespectful. His eyes stung as he felt the tears welling up. He knew in his heart that he could not escape from what was happening. His father would still be dead no matter how far away he got. His grandmother would find him eventually and take him home. In a day or two, he would have to return to collect his father's remains. And then what? They would mourn for a few days and then be expected to move on with their lives? How? How could anyone go on living when the person who meant more than anything to you was gone for good?

Manu found himself slowing down as his legs suddenly started to feel like jelly. Hot tears were now freely flowing down his cheeks and he found that he could no longer resist his stomach's protests. Falling to his knees on the sand, the boy closed his eyes and emptied out the contents of his stomach, coughing and sputtering as he did so.

"Why?" he choked, his entire body shaking. These feelings were just too much for him. He wished that he could just wash away with the tide. "Why? Why? Why? _Why!_"

"Because life's not fair."

He felt his head snap up quickly at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Taking in long, trembling breaths, Manu felt his face turn bright red at the idea that someone had actually been watching him as he broke down.

Easing himself onto his side, Manu looked over to the stranger standing a few feet away from him. He looked completely out of place, dressed head to two in dark colored clothes, hands stuffed in his jacket pocket, and standing in the middle of a sandy beach. He was foreign, Manu knew as much just from his pale skin and strange accent, and his tall stature and dark eyes told something inside the child that he should fear this man.

"Is it true?" the man asked him, taking a few steps closer as Manu fought the urge to scramble backwards in fear. Instead he stayed stock still, his jaw set firm and his eyes narrowed. "Is he really dead?"

He stayed silent. His father had warned him several times about speaking to strangers. He had dishonored the man enough today, he wouldn't allow his foolish tongue to do any further damage.

His silence only served to irritate the dark man. He glowered at him, but his steps were unwavering. Before he knew it, the man was standing right in front of him, peering down at the boy with frustrated, angry eyes. Manu practically had to roll onto his back just so he could look him in the eye.

"I said 'is he dead'?" he asked again, this time much slower, pronouncing the words carefully. Obviously the man took his silence for a poor grasp of the English language and if Manu's mind wasn't already so jumbled with emotion, he'd be more than a little insulted by the assumption. "Is Mohinder Suresh really dead?"

Manu felt his eyes soften in understanding. He was a mourner. The man must have been one of the many people his father had met in America. It was a surprise to say the least. The funeral had been arranged so quickly that Manu was almost certain his grandmother had neglected to tell his father's American friends what had transpired. His heart sank as his eyes began to water once more. Above him the sky began to grow dark as angry storm clouds quickly gathered. He'd been trying to hold back all day, but he just couldn't do it anymore. Squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he could, Manu barely managed to give the man a quick nod in response.

"Yes," he gasped finally. The words felt thick and uncomfortable as he forced them out. It pained him to admit it, and he realized then that it was the first time he'd actually said the words since he'd discovered the man's body. "He is dead. My father is dead."

The man's sharp breath was practically piercing. Manu looked up at him from between wet lashes to see a storm of emotions wash over the man's face. Anger, pain, frustration, and confusion all flashed before his eyes as he clinched his teeth together and dug his hands further into his pockets. For a brief instant, he looked as if he were going to cry, and Manu would have been more than willing to look away in order to save them both the embarrassment, but instead he found himself being pinned under the stranger's dark brown eyes. His gaze practically crushed him, as he continued glaring down at the boy as if he'd suddenly come to a hard conclusion.

"I guess this means you're coming with me," he practically hissed.

Before Manu could even ask what the man had meant by his words, he felt himself being grabbed by the back of his shirt and pulled off of the sand. He gasped, wide eyes staring in disbelief at the man in front of him. The stranger hadn't moved an inch, his hands were still buried in his pockets, yet Manu knew, somehow, that he was the one placing him back on his feet. Thunder crashed above them as the man reached out and grabbed his upper arm, holding him in a tight, vice like grasp. Manu hissed in pain as he was dragged away, fat drops of rain plummeting towards the ground.

He could have protested. He could have struggled. Kicked, screamed, done... _anything_, but instead he just let the dark man drag him away. At that moment, this was exactly what he wanted. Soon he would be with his father again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg

**Chapter 2**

Sylar still remembered the first time he had slept with Mohinder. It wasn't something that he would allow himself to forget easily. It had happened while he was still "Zane." He remembered the way Mohinder had blushed and squirmed, babbling nervously that he didn't usually do this sort of thing with someone he hardly knew. When he closed his eyes and thought carefully, he could still remember how it felt to be inside of the geneticist. He could still feel Mohinder's strong legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He could still see the way the other man looked beneath him, flushed and trembling as his climax approached, and when it arrived, he remembered how Mohinder had pulled him down closer, burying his face in the crock of his neck and exhaling--breath hot and trembling--his name.

Well. Not his name. He had called him "Zane", but Sylar choose to remember it a bit differently.

They had fallen asleep afterwards, bodies still intertwined. He remembered waking up a few hours later, the sun still low in the sky with just enough light that he could see the outline of Mohinder sleeping peacefully beside him. He had spent the next few hours watching the man in his peaceful state, breathing softly next to him. He had tried to memorize every inch of him. Tried to take in every flaw, every hair, every freckle.

That was how Mohinder existed now, in his memories. The skin that he had once worshiped and tried to memorize in the glow of the early morning light was by now nothing more than a pile of ash. Everything that had once been unique and special about him was gone.

Sylar felt his throat tighten as he hardened his grip on the steering wheel. The chase was over. The dreams were gone. The only thing left of Mohinder Suresh was the frightened boy sitting next to him, stock still and dripping wet.

He spared only the briefest glance over at the boy before turning his eyes back to the road ahead of him. They had been driving for hours, but the rain seemed to be following them wherever they went. The gray clouds seemed to stretch out forever as the soft patter of rain stayed steady, showing no signs of letting up.

His teeth clenched in anger when he heard the child shift in his seat nervously. He had known the child was Mohinder's before he had ever said anything. The resemblance between the two was uncanny, yet now that he had time to really look at him, Sylar could see what features were and weren't Mohinder's. His skin was much lighter than his father's had been and the nose didn't match at all--the boy's nose was much ticker and longer--and there was just something about his eyes that didn't sit right with him.

Yet he still looked like him. He acted like him. Hell, he ever smelled like him. The boy practically stank of Mohinder's love. He could see from the broken look on his face that Mohinder had given him everything. He could tell that Mohinder had held him, kissed him, and told him every chance he could how much he loved him. Sylar hated the child for that.

"Where are you taking me?" the boy asked. His voice was soft, and his cultured, polite tone reminded him too much of Mohinder's.

He frowned at the words. It was the first thing the boy had said since he'd dragged the child into the car with him. Unfortunately for the boy, Sylar didn't have an answer for him. He'd originally intended to take him to the airport, catch the first plane to New York and leave India for good, but he'd have to make a pit stop first.

"We're going to find you some new clothes," he explained simply. He couldn't have the boy running around in his white funeral attire. It would look too suspicious.

The child tensed, holding himself tightly as he turned his focus to his feet. "What do you want with me?" he asked, voice trembling. "Are you a pedophile?"

Sylar felt himself flinch at the child's words and serious tone. Just like a Suresh to think the worst of him. "No, I'm not a pedophile," he smirked, shaking his head bitterly. There wasn't much he could tell him, not much he could say to comfort him. He knew that as Mohinder's child the boy would not be satisfied unless he gave him something to wrap his mind around, and some how telling him the truth didn't seem good enough.

"I want you to tell me about your father," he lied. "How did he die?"

The boy took in a few trembling breaths as he squirmed in his seat. He was disappointed that he'd actually believed him. He would have thought that a child of Mohinder's would be smarter than this. Then again, the man had always been ruled by his emotions and given all that the child had gone through today, it wouldn't be too far fetched to assume that the child's depression was clouding his judgment.

"He... he had a heart attack."

His hands were practically shaking as he clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. A heart attack? That's what had killed the geneticist? He deserved a better death than that. His eyes flashed over towards the boy, his face now slowly turning green as tears began to fill his dark brown eyes.

"Was he married?" he asked quickly, hoping that the slight change of subject would keep the child from getting sick.

"What?" he asked, confused brown orbs turning towards him as the child fought back tears. "No. No, I have no mother."

"Everybody has a mother, kid," Sylar corrected bitterly. He had two of them in fact. One he only vaguely remembered and one that he remembered all too well. "You don't just come out of thin air. Besides, I didn't ask if you had a _mother_. I asked if your father had a _wife_."

He shook his head slowly, tight black curls still wet from the rain. "No," he murmured softly.

"How old are you?"

"Nine."

Sylar's stomach tightened at the words. He had last seen Mohinder five years ago in Paris, and he hadn't mentioned anything about having a son. Typical. "What's your name?"

"Manu."

He smiled at the name despite his better judgment. Manu Suresh. It had a pleasant enough ring to it. "Does it mean anything?"

The boy, Manu, shrugged in disinterest. He'd probably heard the question one too many times. "It means 'thinking,'" he informed him, "or 'wise.'"

Sylar laughed. What an appropriate name for Mohinder to give his son.

His laughter only seemed to frighten the poor child as he squirmed away from Sylar, curling over onto his side. "Are you going to kill me?" he whispered softly, hot tears once again streaming down his face.

All traces of humor quickly disappeared from Sylar's face as he listened to Manu take in short, quivering breaths. He had no desire to kill the child. Manu was all that was left of Mohinder, and despite what many would think he had no interest in ending the Suresh bloodline. Even if he did feel jealousy bubble in the pit of his stomach when he looked at the innocent face, he also felt a need to take care of the Indian boy. It was only right that if he couldn't have Mohinder, he would have his son.

"No," he told him slowly, careful not to scare the child anymore than he already had. "I'm not going to kill you."

A loud, choking sob erupted from Manu's small frame as tears came rushing down his cheeks and his whole body trembled with emotion. As the child buried his face into his arms, the sky quickly turned an angry shade of gray. Thunder rumbled only seconds before a bolt of lightning struck down not far from the road side.

Sylar tensed as he flicked his windshield whippers into a higher speed as the rain water seemed to pour down in buckets. Time seemed to crawl by as the weather only worsened the harder Manu cried. It was then that Sylar realized his new "son" was going to more difficult that he would have imagined.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg

**Chapter 3**

Manu was surprised that he had actually had a dream when he'd fallen asleep in his kidnapper's car. He had dreamed of his father. It wasn't anything special. In actuality, it was really more of a memory than a dream. He dreamed of the two of them sitting in their kitchen talking easily as his father prepared dinner. Father would always be sure to make him dinner. Even if he were late coming home, he refused to do anything less than prepare a fresh meal from scratch.

"A fresh meal is the best thing for a growing boy," he would always say as he ran his hand through Manu's ebony curls.

His father had always put him first. He remembered when he had gotten a fever and his father had stayed home with him, skipping work so that he could tend to his needs. Manu had always wondered why his father had not just left him in his grandmother's care, but Manu knew now that it was because he had loved him.

His mind was pulled away from these peaceful memories as he felt a rough hand shaking him back into consciousness. Manu groaned as he turned blurry eyes towards his kidnapper.

"Get up," the man ordered.

Manu stayed quiet as he sat up in his seat. Looking around, he saw that the rain had stopped while he'd been sleeping, but the sky was still blanketed in thick gray clouds. Manu frowned as he noticed that they were parked behind a run down gas station. The building was dirty and worn, and the sight of it made Manu feel uncomfortable.

"Get out," his kidnapper barked, as he slid out of the car and walked towards his door. Manu did as he was told and found himself being grabbed by his upper arm as soon a his feet hit the ground. The man began to drag him towards the men's room, and Manu's heart began to hammer in his chest. He wondered if this was it. His abductor had told him that he wasn't going to kill him, but Manu didn't feel that he could believe a man who ran off with a child in the middle of his father's funeral.

His stomach felt like it was being tied into a thick knot. A part of him was scared, frightened. He didn't want to be killed in a gas station bathroom. It didn't seem like a very respectable death. Yet there was an even bigger part of him that was filled grim curiosity about the impending event. He wondered just how it would happen. Would he be shot, strangled, stabbed, or was his killer simply going to beat him to death.

Manu felt his throat tighten as his kidnapper pushed the bathroom door open and his nose was instantly hit by the fowl stench of the men's room. The lighting was dim, the walls were covered with graffiti and strange stains, and two of the three stalls were missing their doors. He cringed as the man let go of him and pushed him towards the one stall that was half acceptable.

"You gonna be okay on your own?"

"What?" Manu asked, confused by the question. "Yes," he whispered, a light blush coloring his cheeks. "I... I can use the bathroom myself."

"Good. Do what you need. I'll be outside."

Manu nodded as he timidly entered the stall, locking the door behind him. He was surprised when he heard his kidnapper open the door to the restroom and walk out. It was strange to admit that he was suddenly filled with disappointment. He was starting to wonder if the man had been serious when he had said he wasn't going to kill him. The idea left him feeling hollow inside, almost cold, that was, until he reminded himself that his abductor was probably going to do it after he came back.

He relieved himself, and continued to wait in the stall, passing the time by studying the various names, phone numbers, and other random phrases written all over the walls. Manu suddenly wondered what his father would think if he saw him in such a place. His father had always been mindful to only take him to place that he felt were safe. Yet even then the older Suresh would be sure to keep his eyes on him. Manu supposed that it must have been to make sure he didn't end up in this exact situation.

Manu's breath caught in his throat when he heard the door to the men's room ease open once more. He listened carefully to the foot steps approaching the door, wondering if it was a stranger or his kidnapper coming back to finish the job. There was a soft rapping on the door to his stall, before an all too familiar voice told him to open it. Manu frowned, straightening out his funeral attire before doing as he was told. As soon as the door was opened, his kidnapper handed him a stack of clothes and the boy was too frightened to ask where he had gotten them from.

"Put these on," he ordered before pulling the door closed again, allowing Manu to change in private. Manu slipped out of his funeral clothes, careful not to let any of it touch the floor. Hanging his clothes on the door hook, Manu quickly pulled on the khaki shorts and light blue polo shirt that his abductor had given him. The clothes were a size too big and felt itchy and rough against his skin, but he knew better than to complain. Yet the boy couldn't help but feel remorseful at the idea that these were possibly the clothes he would be killed in. He didn't want to die in something so uncomfortable.

Gathering his funeral clothes in his arms, he walked out the door, head dropped down to his chest as he resisted the urge too look at his soon to be killer and cry. The last thing he wanted was for the man to change his mind before he could commit the act. Instead of a gun being pointed towards him, the man handed him a bottle of water before pushing him towards the door.

"What's this?" he asked him. Was he going to kill him out in the open? Was the man really that daring?

"It's water," he told him, continuing to steer the child back towards the car. "You'll make yourself sick if you keep crying like that and don't drink anything."

It was then that Manu realized just what was happening to him. He knew then that he wasn't simply being kidnapped, he was being held for ransom. The boy let out a deep sigh as he climbed back into the car. "You're wasting your time," he whispered, staring at the water bottle still in his hands, seal unbroken. "My father... was a brilliant man, but we were not rich people. You would be better off just killing me and going home."

Manu jumped as his kidnapper slammed the car door shut. He reached over and sharply snatched the water bottle out of the boy's hands. "I told you I'm not going to kill you," he grunted, frustration clear in his tone as he opened the bottle and handed it back to the child.

"But you won't get any money," he reminded him. Manu suddenly wondered if it were possible that he could frustrate the man so much that he would kill him anyway.

"I don't want money." The car roared to life as the pulled out of the gas station and back onto the open road.

"Then you _are_ a pedophile."

The man merely rolled his eyes in disgust at the suggestion, but didn't bother to look at him. "If that were the case, then I would have already done something by now," he explained simply.

Manu continued to squirm in his seat as he digested the situation that he was in. He wasn't going to be ransomed and he wasn't going to be killed. He couldn't figure out what it was that his kidnapper would gain out of abducting him against his will, yet here he was, trapped in a car with a man he was starting be believe was insane and heading towards an unknown destination. He stared down at the now open bottle resting in his hands and felt his stomach tighten.

"What do you want with me?" the words were spoken so quietly that for a moment Manu was certain that he had only thought them.

His kidnapper frowned thoughtfully as he eased off of the road and on to the shoulder. Shifting the car into park, he took a deep breath before turning his gaze towards Manu.

"I knew your father," he began, choosing his words carefully as if he were worried that the boy wouldn't understand him. "We met about twelve years ago. I loved him, but he never returned my feelings. I came here, to India, to try to find him and change his mind about me. Instead, I find out that he's dead." The boy flinched, pressing himself as far back against the passenger door as he could as the man reached out and cupped his cheeks with his pale, cold hands. "You're all that's left of Mohinder Suresh," he whispered, caressing the boy's soft skin with his rough thumbs. Manu squirmed and fought back a frightened sob. "I loved your father, so I'm going to take care of you. You're going to come with me, to America, and we're going to be a family. We're going to take care of each other."

The child's insides turned cold as his kidnapper forced him to tip his head forward as he bent down and placed as tender of a kiss as the man could muster on the boy's tanned forehead. "Please, don't hurt me," Manu sobbed, too frightened to control what came out of his mouth.

His abductor laughed, squeezing his cheeks in what Manu guessed was supposed to be an affectionate gesture. "I won't," he promised. "As long as you're good, I won't have to. Now drink your water."

Manu nodded as the man released him from his grasp and did as he was told, swallowing as best as he could while he shook with fright. He wished he had stayed at the funeral. He wished he had sprinkled the water just as he was supposed to and said a proper goodbye to his father. If he had only done that he would not be trapped with this mad man.

"Good boy," the man smirked, as he turned the key and started the car once more. He eased back onto the road and Manu heard the sky rumble as rain started to pound against the car. His kidnapper didn't seem to mind, as he calmly turned on his head lights and windshield whippers.

"I... I don't even know who you are," Manu whispered as he curled up tightly into himself. His stomach ached and he was freezing.

The man smiled, the gesture was cold and unfeeling. "Sylar."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg

**Chapter 4**

Sylar soon discovered that children had a tendency to sleep quite often. Manu had fallen fast asleep on their way to the airport and woke up just long enough for them to get past security and find a flight to New York. Of course, once they had settled down to wait, he'd managed to nod off again. At first, Sylar had considered waking the boy and trying to get him to eat something before the flight, but he decided against it. He liked the boy better when he was sleeping. He didn't cry when he slept and it was then that he looked the most like Mohinder. The differences between the two seemed to fall away in the boy's unconscious state.

He had sat there in comfortable silence gently running his fingers through the child's soft black curls, ignoring the quizzical looks thrown his way by passers by. He remembered doing this to Mohinder the few times the man had fallen asleep around him. Right away he had noticed that Manu's hair was much softer than his father's had been, likely because Mohinder had always taken better care of others than he had himself.

Sylar smirked. He may not like the boy, but Manu was starting to grow on him. The more time he spent with the Indian child, the more he felt a connection forming between the two of them. He could see himself loving him, taking care of him, raising him as his own son. He may have been virtually immortal now, but it wouldn't hurt to carry something along to a second generation, to pass on a part of himself and leave a mark on the world.

They boarded their flight without any trouble. Manu had been a bit nervous during take off, but he had calmed down after a while. That was until Sylar noticed the way he started to scratch himself. It was innocent enough at first, a rub at his arm, then his shoulders, then his back. Then the boy started to squirm in his seat, arching his back uncomfortably and rubbing at his legs harshly, leaving angry red streaks along his tanned skin.

Sylar frowned, grabbing his wrists in a vice like grip. "Stop that," he hissed. "You're tearing your skin."

Manu flinched, looking down in embarrassment at his reddened skin. "It itches," he whined, his tone so weak and pathetic that Sylar began to question the child's parentage.

The man groaned as he rolled up Manu's sleeves and saw that the skin was starting to turn bumpy and red. It was clear from the looks of it that Manu was having an allergic reaction to something and he had a feeling it was the clothes he had given him. "Are you allergic to anything?" Sylar asked, rubbing at the boy's arm gently.

"No," Manu shrugged. "I... I don't think so."

"Is there anything wrong?" Sylar looked up to find a flight attendant staring down at them, her expression worried, yet polite.

Sylar flashed her a gentle smile. "My son seems to be having a reaction to his clothes," he explained, patting Manu's arm affectionately. "We've been traveling around for a while and were unable to stop and change into something clean before the flight, and unfortunately, my son, God bless him, accidentally left his carry on at the airport. Do you think it's possible that you might have something he could change into?"

The attendant's expression softened as understanding and sympathy flashed in her eyes. "I'm sure we can manage something," she assured him. Her bright smile turned towards Manu, as she pinched his round cheeks reassuringly. "Don't worry, honey, we'll find something for you."

Once the woman was gone, Manu slumped down in his seat, his face flushed with embarrassment as he glared over at Sylar. "I am _not_ your son," he hissed, pulling his arm away from Sylar's grasp.

The serial killer frowned down at the boy, not at all surprised by his tone. He was a Suresh after all and just like his father. It seemed to be encoded in the family's DNA to make life harder for him. "I told you Manu, we're family now," he reminded the Indian child, running his hands through his hair, making the child stiffen uncomfortably. He squirmed, so Sylar grabbed the boy's hair in a tight fist, causing the boy to hiss in pain. "Now be good."

Sylar relaxed his grip as the flight attendant reappeared with a white buttoned down shirt and a pair of navy blue shorts. "Do you think these will fit your boy?" she asked, bringing the clothes closer so that he could examen them carefully. "One of the mother's on the flight had packed extra clothes for her boys, so she was happy to let you keep these."

He grabbed the clothes and looked at their tags. The materials seemed to be one hundred percent cotton, so he figured it was worth a shot. He thanked the helpful young woman as he gently lifted Manu and steered the child towards the bathrooms. Sylar placed the change of clothes in the Indian child's hands before he pushed him into the first available stall and waited for him to come out. As he stood there, he was surprised when he was approached by another flight attendant. She handed him a small tube of cream and suggested he give it to his son. Sylar smiled at hearing someone else call the boy his son and accepted the cream gratefully.

Manu reappeared seconds later dressed in his new attire with his old clothing neatly folded in his arms. Sylar couldn't help but smirk at the child. Manu was well mannored, neat, and soft spoken. What a polite boy Mohinder had raised.

Sylar took the folded clothes from him before offering him the cream. "Do you want me to apply it for you?" he asked, causing Manu to blush furiously.

"N-no, I can do it."

-+-+-+-

Sylar had thought that things would calm down after that, but Manu's stomach seemed to have other plans. After the child had settled back into his seat, he'd begun to nod off, only to wake up looking pale and green. Sylar slid away from him, worried that the child would throw up on him.

"I don't feel well," the boy grumbled as he curled up into a ball, fists rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Sylar mutely handed him an air sickness bag which Manu accepted gratefully. Yet much to his surprise, Manu did not vomit. He merely sat up and began to dry heave, shaking with pain. He gritted his teeth when he noticed that the other passengers were starting to stare at them as Manu began to sob from embarrassment. The killer did his best to hide the child's face, burning red and stained with tears.

"You should have eaten something earlier," Sylar hissed at him, causing the child to cry harder. The boy had pushed away their dinner, claiming that he wasn't hungry, but Sylar now wished that he had forced him to eat.

A male flight attendant appear next to him and sympathetically handed the man a bottle of ginger ale and a packet of crackers. He accepted the items thankfully, but Manu was not nearly as grateful. Sylar offered him the food, but the child merely pushed it away. The serial killer gritted his teeth as he grasped one of the boy's ears between his fingers and twisted. Manu jerked, crying out in pain as Sylar pulled him closer.

"I told you to behave, so do what I say," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for arguments "I might have said I wouldn't kill you, but that there are plenty of things I can do without killing."

Manu sobbed, but did as he was told. He let go of his tight grip on the child's ear, and attempted to pat his shoulder in approval, only to have Manu flinch away in fear. Handling Manu was going to be difficult. The child might have been willing to obey him, but he was also starting to fear him. He didn't want that. He wanted Manu to love him, just as Mohinder was supposed to. It seemed as though he was going to have to figure out a new approach to parenting.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg

**Chapter 5**

Manu was thankful when they had finally landed in New York. He hadn't been on a plane since he was five years old, and he remembered that flight being just as miserable as this one, even with his father there to look after him instead of a brain stealing serial killer.

His father had only ever spoken to him about Sylar once. All he had said was that if a man named Sylar ever approached him, he was to run away as quickly as he could, but he had over heard his father discussing the man with others. He had heard about how Sylar targeted people like himself, like his father, people with special powers. He'd heard that Sylar's trade mark was to use telekinesis to remove his victim's brain in order to study it and gain their abilities. Yet the killer did not seem interested in his weather manipulating powers. The child was not sure if Sylar were either unaware of what he could do or truly just wanted Manu to accept him as his new father figure.

The boy cringed at the idea of calling a murder "Father." The man must have either been seriously disturbed or was banking on the boy quickly developing Stockholm syndrome.

Manu was dragged away from these thoughts as he was lead through the airport by Sylar. He was embarrassed to be holding hands with his kidnapper, but he knew better than to let go. Sylar had warned him against running away. He had told him to stay close and make sure not to get lost.

"After all," he had explained, "_I_ promised I wouldn't kill you. If you run off, you could end up with someone who wouldn't be able to make that same promise." Although, it wasn't dying that Manu was really worried about.

A sick feeling welled up inside of him as Sylar tightened his grip on his hand, signaling him to quicken his pace. Manu couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't been stopped. Why no one had ever asked to see a passport or any identification from them. The child could only assume that the killer had either gained some sort of ability to manipulate people's minds so that the security guards didn't bother to approach them or the two of them were invisible and he didn't even realize it.

Somehow the concept of being invisible made the boy think of his father. He wonder if his father's funeral had gone well after he'd disappeared. He wondered if his spirit was on its way to the abode of their ancestors. It had been about two days since his father had passed away. If he were still in India, he would have to go back to collect his father's aches in an urn and the take them to the river to be scattered.

His mind soon began to wander back to his grandmother. A knot of guilt welled up inside of the child as his thoughts turned to the poor old woman. He was the only family that she had left and he had run out on her. She had needed him, but he was too busy being a selfish child to think of her. If only he had been stronger, if only he could go back and change things.

Manu's mind only vaguely registered when they were outside. Everything about the city felt so different from Chennai. The sights, the sounds, even the air all seemed so strange to him and if Sylar were any indication of the people who could be found in this country, Manu had a feeling he would not like staying here. For however long that would be.

The Indian boy felt his eyes wander over towards Sylar, who was currently trying to hail a taxi. He eyed the murder's duffel bag with envy. Suddenly Manu became painfully aware of the fact that he didn't have anything that he could call his own. Even the clothes he wore belonged to someone else, although they were better fitting and more comfortable than the ones that Sylar had originally given him. Yet, strangely enough, longed for the clothes he'd worn at his father's funeral. At least he knew where they had come from, knew that they belonged to him.

"Come on," Sylar ordered. A taxi had finally stopped for them. Sylar made sure that Manu got in first before he slid in beside him. His face turned pink as Sylar reached over and buckled his seatbelt for him. A part of him wanted to slap the man's hand away, to tell him he wasn't a baby and could easily fasten his own seat belt, but he knew better. He didn't bother to listen as Sylar gave the driver directions, he just did his best to slide as far away from Sylar as possible.

"How's your rash?" Sylar ask, his voice felt far too loud for Manu's taste and the child felt his face instantly turned bright red at the question.

"It's fine," he said quickly. Manu squirmed uncomfortably when he noticed the taxi driver's eyes flash towards him in the rear view mirror. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to a hotel," he told him. "Then we're going to get you some clothes."

_I want my old clothes._

Manu felt his ears perk up when he realized that the driver was talking to him in Tamil. The man had recognized his accent and asked if where he was from. Manu smiled for the first time since he had found his father's body. It was strangely comforting to know that there were people in America that were like him.

He replied in his native tongue, telling the driver that he was from Chennai and the man smiled warmly at him.

Sylar tensed when he noticed the two speaking. He reached out and grasped the child's hand in his, clinging to him tightly. His hold was possessive and painful and Manu felt certain that his hand would be bruised once the serial killer let go.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak to my son," Sylar growled more than warned.

His outburst caused the driver to turn and stare at the two, analyzing them intensely. Manu was thankful that they were stopped at a red light as the man took the time to study their appearances. "He's _your_ son?" the driver asked, disbelief clear in his heavily accented tone. "He doesn't look like you."

"He takes after his mother," Sylar assured, giving his hand a tight squeeze, warning him not to contradict his claim. Manu already knew better.

The driver raised a brow at the two as a car horn honked behind them, signaling that the light had changed a while ago. "Well, he does have your nose," the man shrugged as he turned his focus back to the road.

Manu felt his face flush bright red as his free hand reflectively reached up to feel his nose.

Sylar laughed grasping the child's other hand, pulling it away from his face. "It's a fine nose," he smirked.

-+-+-+-

The room that Sylar had gotten them wasn't as bad as Manu had been expecting it to be. There were two beds, both of them as large as his father's had been, and a large television with a round tube and several magnetic spots that was placed against the opposite wall. A desk was pushed into the corner next to the television and an arm chair next to the massive window which gave him a clear view of the city skyline.

The bathroom was cramped, but Manu was pleased to see that they had a bathtub he could wash in. It was tradition that after the funeral service the family of the dead should take a bath. Needless to say the opportunity to do so had not come until just now.

Manu was embarrassed to have to ask Sylar for permission to go bathe. He refused to tell him his true intentions, he merely claimed that he wanted to get clean. The serial killer shrugged indifferently, telling him that they would buy his clothes afterwards.

He was more than eager to lock himself in the bathroom. Manu knew that Sylar could easily tear down the door with his powers, but it was comforting none the less just to have some sense of distance between them. Twisting on the warm water, the child waited quietly as he watched the water rise in the tub. Part of him was glad to get back to the traditional mourning process, but the knowledge that it had only been two days since his father had passed away ate at his insides.

Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could still see his father's vacant endless expression as he lay still on the cold, hard floor. Yet he had actually smiled today. It was strange that the memory of such a seemingly small gesture made him want to crawl away and hide. What right did he have to be happy when his father was now just a pile of ashes. The man's spirit was probably in danger of remaining in it's ghost state because of what he had done at the funeral. He wondered if his father would ever be able to forgive him.

Hot tears began welling up in the corners of his eyes as he switched off the faucet. It hurt to think that for the next eleven days he'd be mourning his father's death. He doubted the pain he was feeling now would lessen at all in that time. His heart panged with regret as he slipped under the warm water and tried to keep himself calm.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg

**Chapter 6**

Shopping with a serial killer was a new experience for Manu. Sylar had a look of disgust on his face the entire time. It was as if just being near people was physically painful for him. Although the boy wouldn't be too surprise if that were the case. He was a murderer after all.

The child was more than a bit disheartened to find that his kidnapper was intent on picking out everything for him. He had asked Manu offhandedly what sizes he wore and then began to pick out everything that was either black, white, or gray. For a moment Manu began to wonder if the man were color blind or simply hated everything that he deemed to be too vibrant.

It was then that he decided to try to pick out something for himself. Casually, the child found himself wandering over to the sleepwear section, hoping to have some time to himself as well as remind himself what colored fabrics looked like. He had been fingering a set of blue and green stripped pajamas when he suddenly felt as if an invisible hand were pulling him by his shirt collar, dragging him backwards. A small gasp escaped his lips just as a firm hand clasped tightly down on his shoulder, spinning him around.

Sylar glared down at him, disappointment and anger clear in his dark gaze. "Where were you going?"

Manu felt his throat clench in fear. "I was just looking at something," he mumbled.

The excuse didn't seem to satisfy his kidnapper. Sylar growled as his hand shifted from Manu's shoulder to his hair, clenching his black curls in a painful fist and tugging hard. "Don't wander away from me," he hissed. "If you want to go somewhere, you'll ask me first. Got it?"

Manu nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. Sylar's actions hadn't scared him, it was his own that had him worried. He had stepped away from Sylar and hadn't even considered trying to get away from his kidnapper. He told himself that it was because he knew if he had gotten away, Sylar would have found him anyway, but that answer just didn't seem to feel right.

Sylar's grip softened, but he continued to finger his hair. "I just want you to be good," he explained, kneeling down so that they were at eye level. "Can you be good for me?"

The Indian boy began to say something, but he couldn't find the words. Instead, he just nodded silently and tried his best not to look at his abductor.

His body tightened as Sylar's hand moved from the back of head down to his neck. "Let's just grab a few more things and then we'll get dinner," the man muttered. His smile was meant to be warm and tender, to show Manu that he was only harsh with him because felt it was necessary, but it didn't have the proper effect on the child. Instead Manu just felt uncomfortable. He wanted to turn and run away from the disturbed killer as quickly as possible. To make the situation worse, Sylar learned forward and kissed his forehead, and Manu had to fight to keep from running.

-+-+-+-

Peter found himself jerked out of a peaceful sleep by the harsh shriek of his phone ringing beside him. He groped blindly in the darkness, trying his best to find the phone only to grasp his alarm clock by mistake. Blurry eyes were barely able to make out the time, but he was able to acknowledge that someone was actually calling him at 1:31 am by the time he picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

"Hello," a woman's voice replied from the other end of the line. She spoke softly, yet her voice was rough with deep emotions. "I am so sorry to call you so late, but is this Peter Petrelli?"

The cloud of sleep was slowly lifting and Peter's mind sluggishly began to register the familiar accent in the woman's voice. "Yeah, this is Peter."

The woman took a deep quivering breath as she gathered her thoughts. "You... you don't know me, but I am Mohinder Suresh's mother," the woman explained haltingly "There's something important... that I have to tell you. My son... Mohinder... is dead."

By now Peter was wide awake. The room seemed to close in on him as he flicked on the light next to his bed side. "Dead?" he echoed. "Wh... h-how? When did this happen?"

Peter could barely make out Mrs. Suresh's voice over the sound of his heart drumming in his ears. He sat up straighter as she explained that Mohinder had died of a heart attack two days ago. She told him that her son's body had already been cremated, and they were currently going through his will. "That is why I called you, Mr. Petrelli," she explained. "Mohinder had a son, Manu. Have you ever met him?"

The man frowned as he searched his memory. He had met Mohinder's son once, when the child was only two years old. He remembered how angry he had been with Mohinder for not telling him that he had a child now. The geneticist had brushed off his anger, explaining that he wanted as little people as possible to know about his child, fearing that Sylar would find out. Peter had let it go, but was still annoyed that Mohinder was so reluctant to answer any of his questions about the boy.

"I've met him... once."

"Oh." Disappointment was clear in her tone and Peter began to sweat at the possibilities of what she was going to say next. "Well, my son... he had decided that... when his time came, he wanted _you _to have custody of his child."

Peter felt his mouth fall open and his eyes expand to the size of dinner plates. A million questions gathered in his mind, but his throat was too choked to let any of them out. Time seemed to crawl by as silence stretched out between him and the woman on the other end of the line. It was only after Mrs. Suresh began to call his name that Peter realized that he should have said _something _by now. "W-why?" he blurted out suddenly. "Why me? Why... why not the boy's mother? Why not you?"

He barely caught the choked sob that came from the Indian woman and Peter suddenly felt like the world's biggest fool. "Manu has no mother," she explained to him, fighting back the tears that were already choking her words. "And I... I cannot protect him. That is why Mohinder wanted him to go to _you_. We talked about this, Mr. Petrelli. We... we discussed it thoroughly before he... before he passed away. Manu was supposed to go with you so you could protect him from..." Her words faded away as the tears began to flow freely now.

The paramedic felt the sweat pour down his face and his stomach tighten as he listened to the woman's muffled sobs. He knew without her speaking the words what he was supposed to protect Manu from. Mohinder had clearly been fearful of Sylar learning about the child since day one, and with his powers, fully matured and under control once more, Peter Petrelli was the only man in the world who would be a match for the serial killer.

Peter was still lost in his musings when he was suddenly drawn back to something Mrs. Suresh had said to him. "What do you mean 'supposed to'?"

He listened as Mrs. Suresh took a breath, putting aside her tears for just a moment longer. "Manu disappeared yesterday during Mohinder's funeral," she explained. "The police here believe that he ran away, but I _know_ my grandson, Mr. Petrelli. He would never do something so foolish."

"You think he was kidnapped," he concluded.

"Yes," she breathed.

Peter frowned as he ran a hand through his hair. He already knew who would have done it. The only question was, how did Sylar find out about Mohinder's death before he had? He knew right away that he would have to be the one to find Mohinder's son, but the idea of raising the boy made him feel uneasy. Nathan had once told him that he was still too much of a child himself to actually have any children, and maybe he was right. Yet Mohinder had pick him to protect his son, and he owed it to his friend to follow through on his dying request.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Suresh," Peter assured her. "I'm going to find your grandson."

"But... how?"

Peter forced a lopsided grin on to his features as well as muster a cheerful sounding tone, hoping to reassure the distraught woman on the line as well as himself. "I'll find a way," he promised her. "Do you think you could send me a recent picture of Manu."

"Yes," the woman said hesitantly. "I can. There's... there's also a letter for you."

"A letter?"

"Yes. Mohinder wrote it after had decided to make you Manu's guardian after he passed."

He frowned at the woman's words. He couldn't imagine what Mohinder had put in the letter that he couldn't have told him seven years ago, but he pushed that thought aside. The man probably hadn't expected to pass away so suddenly, let alone while his boy was still so young. Making Peter his guardian was probably an act of desperation.

"What does the letter say?"

"I do not know," she admitted with a tired sigh. "I didn't read it. It was sealed with the specific instructions to... to give it to you when you came to collect Manu. All I can tell you is that it feels very thick, but it's no surprise. My son always did put too much thought into his writing." A bitter laugh escaped the woman's lips and Peter felt his heart go out to her. "I'll... I will mail it to you along with Manu's picture. I'll try to get it there as quickly as possible."

"Thank you. And I promise, once I find Manu, I'll send him back to India-"

"No," Mrs. Suresh cut in suddenly. "No. My son picked you, and he must have had a good reason to do so."

Peter didn't bother to argue with the Indian woman. She had been through enough as it was. He gave her his mailing address before hanging up. Glancing over at the clock, he didn't even bother to register the time as he slipped out of bed. He had a feeling he wouldn't be getting any sleep for a while.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg  
**Spoiler Warning:** This chapter contains very brief, and very vague, references to the season 3 finale as well as my own speculation on what may happen after. If you have not seen the end of (or any of) season 3, I suggest you do so soon as NBC, Veoh, Hulu, and IMDB will soon be pulling the episodes from the website some time in early August.

**Chapter 7**

Manu dreamed of his father again, but this time his dream was not nearly as peaceful as his previous one. This time he dreamed of his father's spirit. He was miserable and tortured, now forced to wander the earth without peace. He came to Manu, intent on killing him, but instead he just stood before him and cried. The disturbing vision, coupled with the gnawing emptiness in his stomach, caused Manu to jerk awake.

He shuddered, curling into a tight ball at the too cold hotel room. He didn't usually get cold very easily. Part of his ability was an advance tolerance for extreme temperatures, but his grief seemed to be throwing his powers out of whack. When he was very young, his emotions alone were able to bring storms and change the temperatures. As he got older, he was able to adjust the weather without relying on his feelings alone. When his father had passed away, his control seemed to return back to his early childhood state. Now, he couldn't control the weather at all, he could only sense when a storm was coming and where it would head. He wondered if it was normal for someone like him to loose their abilities completely based on their mental state, but he pushed the thought aside. He had bigger things to worry about, like the fact that Sylar was gone.

Rolling onto his side, he glanced over at the other bed. His eyes were now adjusted to the darkness and he was able to see that the bed on the other side of the room was not only empty, it had never even been touched. He should have been happy. He should have been relieved that he was free from the eyes of his kidnapper, but he didn't feel that way at all. Instead, Manu felt naked and exposed. He was alone in a strange country. He didn't know anyone in America accept Sylar and now he was gone. Without Sylar and his powers, Manu had no way of defending himself.

The child shivered, pulling the blankets closer to his small frame. In the lonely hotel room, the darkness began to play tricks on him. All around him, the shadows stretched out and made strange, threatening shapes. His face burned bright red at the idea of being afraid of the dark at his age. If the children at school were to find out about this, they would surely laugh at him. Yet somehow the vicious shapes in the night all felt very real and very dangerous to him. The only source of light he could find was the digital clock that laid between him and the bed that Sylar was supposed to be sleeping in. For some strange reason, he found the deep red numbers that told him it was currently 3:33 in the morning extremely eerie. He wanted to crawl out of bed and turn on all the lights, but he the idea of leaving his cocoon of blankets didn't sit well with him either.

Manu sobbed, embarrassed and alone as he held onto himself tightly, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself to fall asleep again. Yet the pounding in his chest and the heavy foot steps in the distance wouldn't allow it.

_Foot steps?_

As soon as the thought registered in his mind, Manu heard the chime of the locks on the door approving a key. Sylar reappeared, his outline blinding him as he squirmed away, hiding in his bedsheets. Although he knew right away that the killer had noticed him.

"Why are you still awake?" his kidnapper asked, flicking on the blinding lights thoughtlessly.

Manu was about to say he had had a nightmare, but decided against it, swallowing the words. Instead, Manu merely laid in silence as the man walked over to the bathroom and began running water.

"Are you upset that I didn't buy you those ridiculous pajamas?"

The child briefly wondered what was so ridiculous about blue and green stripped pajamas, but did not put too much thought into it. Sylar was insane after all. "Where were you?" he asked instead, not caring if Sylar thought he was being insolent. "Did you kill someone?"

The water came to a halt as Sylar slipped back into the main part of the room. Manu could practically hear the smirk on the killers lips as he walked towards his bed. The child just closed his eyes, and turned his head away from him.

"Would it make you feel better if I told you I was out drinking?" Sylar joked, sitting down on the empty space beside Manu causing the soft mattress to sink under his weight. The boy knew right away that his kidnapper was not drunk. Even now, he did not smell of alcohol at all. He smelled like blood, and Manu couldn't help but marvel at the fact that the smell stuck with him even after washing his hands. He flinched as Sylar rested his hands, still cold and wet from the washing, on his head. The serial killer began to pet him like a frightened animal and Manu wonder what was his fascination with his hair? "Would you like me better if I didn't kill people?"

It was a serious question, and Manu had a feeling that a great deal rested on his answer. Yet to lie felt wrong, so instead he just said, "Maybe."

Sylar laughed, bitter and hollow as he wrapped a finger around one of his longer curls. "You're lying," he muttered. "I can tell when people lie." Silence fell between the two as Sylar continued to run his hands through Manu's hair and Manu refused to let himself fall asleep. He didn't want to drift off like this. "I miss him too, you know," Sylar announced suddenly, and Manu felt very uncomfortable. "For a while, he was the only person I could even consider calling a friend."

Manu cringed at the intimacy of the situation. It made him sick inside to know that a man who had killed so many people--his own grandfather included--was now running his hands through his hair and trying to relate to him. He suddenly wished that he could just disappear into the bed and escape the awkward circumstance.

"Did he ever talk about me?"

The question was sudden and unexpected. Manu wondered if he should lie, just to see if Sylar really could tell whether or not someone told the truth, but he thought better of it. The truth was easier. Lying took too much work and his sleepy mind couldn't even think of the simplest fabrication.

"He mentioned you once to me," he wanted to shrug, but the gesture would have been too awkward to preform while lying down. "I guess he did not want me to know. He was... protective."

Sylar chuckled, seeming to be unsurprised by the child's words. "I guess I was just a bad dream to him," his kidnapper mused. "A nightmare he wanted to forget about."

His words were almost, _almost_, enough to make Manu to feel the slightest inkling of sympathy for the man, but he stuffed those vague feelings away. He must have been more worn out than he had thought.

"You said that you were in love with him," he found himself asking, not really knowing why or where the sudden interest had come from. "Why?"

Manu felt his abductor's hands still as he took in a long, deep breath. Peering up at the man, Manu would even dare to say that he looked peaceful as he searched his mind for an answer fit for a nine year old. "He was... special," he explained simply. "Like no one else... and he made me feel special, too. There was a time--not long before your father left the country--where I was lost, I didn't know, didn't _remember_ who I was, and he helped me. He helped me find myself again."

"How?"

Sylar turned to look at him, his face was serious, yet a small tired smile was pulling at the corner of his lips. "Just... being there. It helped."

The child frowned thoughtfully at this information. He wondered if a man who could tell when people were trying to mislead him was willing to lie. It was difficult, nearly impossible, to picture his father this way, as being fawned over by a mad man.

"Did... did my father not like women?" The question was so awkward that he blushed with regret as soon as it escaped from his lips.

Sylar seemed to be greatly displeased by such words as his expression proceeded to darken as he contemplated his own answer. "There were a few women," he told him, disgust clear in his voice.

"Could one have been my mother?" It was meant to be more of a thought than an actual verbal statement, but he was too tired to stop himself from making such mistakes. "I always thought... maybe... my mother was..."

"White?"

Manu ducked his head further down into the blankets at the man's bluntness. He nodded although wouldn't have to put it that way. It seemed rude.

"I wouldn't know about that," he shrugged.

"She died before I could remember," Manu explained, although he wasn't certain why he would explain such a thing to this man. "It was always father and grandmother and I. Father... he never spoke of her. I guess it made him sad."

Sylar didn't say anything. The conversation must have upset him because he suddenly seemed unwilling to look at him, let alone touch him. His kidnapper sat up, walking towards the light switch. "Go to sleep," he ordered, flicking the switch and plunging the room into complete darkness.

The Indian child felt his heart hammer in his chest, nervous that there would be repercussions for what he had said.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg

**Chapter 8**

Sylar was starting to think that he had made a mistake with Manu. Taking care of a child was more work that he had anticipated, especially one as difficult as Manu. In spite of his quiet, obedient nature, the child still found a way to constantly irritate him.

Even after the incident on the plane, Manu was still refusing to eat anything. Sylar knew he could force the boy to eat, but whenever he did, the child only ended up getting sick and throwing up later on. He was starting to wonder if he was doing it on purpose. Then again, he didn't know anything about Manu's diet.

He was starting to get the feeling that Manu may have been a vegetarian. When he had given the boy a cheeseburger for dinner the other night, Manu had stared at it as if he had placed a dead bird in his lap. Sylar had forced him to eat it, twisting his hair and pulling at his ears until they turned bright red, and the child had sobbed with every bite. The Indian boy continued to cry until he threw up a short while later.

Sylar frowned as he watched Manu, sitting at the foot of the bed and flipping through channels on the television. He could tell from the disinterested look on the child's face that he wasn't very fond of watching television. The boy had been poking through the drawers earlier when he came across the Bible stuffed in the bedside table. Sylar had explained that all hotels kept Bibles in their rooms, but Manu didn't seem interested in his words. He'd flipped through it, before putting it back. Sylar could tell the boy wanted to read it, but was too embarrassed to do so in front of him.

It didn't take long for Manu to settle on a documentary on the evolution of aquatic mammals. Sylar heard the child's stomach rumble from across the room. A light pink color flashed over the boy's cheeks as he curled up into himself, tucking his knees under his chin.

Things weren't going well. Manu didn't like him at all and the tension between the two of them was only building. Sylar wanted Manu to love him, but whenever the boy looked at him, fear was clearly present in his eyes. Something had to change. Sylar knew that the only way that he was going to get him to eat something would be if Manu started to trust him.

"Manu," Sylar started. The boy flinched at the sound of Sylar's voice, but the killer shrugged it off. "Get your shoes. We're going out."

"No more food," he mumbled, obviously remembering last night's incident with the cheeseburger.

The man smirked at his comment. "No, I have something else in mind."

-+-+-+-

Sylar could practically feel Manu pale in horror as he dragged him towards the playground. He knew the boy wanted to protest, wanted to tell him that he was too old for sandboxes and jungle gyms, but he stayed silent, clearly afraid of what Sylar would do if he didn't obey him. Of course, Sylar saw nothing wrong with the situation. Manu was small for his age and could easily pass from a much younger child. He didn't see any reason for him to be embarrassed.

Then again, it was a father's job to embarrass his son, and Sylar took pleasure in that thought.

He smirked, releasing his grasp on the child's hand and allowing him to wander off. He wasn't worried about the boy running away. No matter how far he went, Sylar knew he could catch him and bring him back. Manu circled the playground slowly, keeping his distance from the other children eagerly running around and playing in the sand. He didn't show any signs of running. In fact, the more he moved around, the more he seemed to shrink into himself. It was only after a few minutes studying the other children that Manu moved himself over to the swing set, sliding into the first rubber seat that was available, likely intending to sit there until it was time to leave. Sylar wasn't going to allow that.

It wasn't hard to sneak up on the boy, the noise of the busy playground drowned out the soft sound of his foot steps sinking into the sand. When he was just close enough to touch him, Sylar gently laid his hand on the Indian child's back and gave him a gentle push.

Manu stiffened, taken completely off guard by the gesture, as he eased forward. His hands gripped the chains tightly and his back arched, but as he slowly drifted back towards him, Sylar could see that his lips had curled into a faint smile. Taking that as his signal, Sylar gave him another push, this time with a bit more force and Manu slowly relaxed, enjoying the movement. He didn't speak, he barely smiled, but Sylar could tell that the boy was starting to have fun. A smile spread across his own features as Manu began to swing his legs in the air, eager to go higher and higher. He was more than happy to continue the gesture, thinking that he had finally broken through and that maybe the boy would stop being so tense around him. Manu started to laugh, and the sound warmed Sylar inside, until the child's giggle quickly turned into gentle sobs.

Sylar grabbed Manu gently by the shoulders, steadying him as the Indian child continued to weep. "What's wrong?" he asked, trying his best not to sound too frustrated.

"This is disrespectful," Manu sobbed, bowing his head in shame. "I am still in mourning. He has only been dead for three days!"

The man sighed as understanding dawned on him. He shifted so that he was now standing in front of the child and then knelled down so that he could at least attempt to look at his face. "I understand how you feel," Sylar whispered, trying his best to be reassuring, but Manu would not accept his sympathy.

"No you don't," he snapped, turning his head away from him. "You're a monster, you don't have feelings."

Sylar felt his muscles tense as the boy's words dug into him. It suddenly felt as if he were speaking to Mohinder and Sylar had to fight the urge to smack the child in front of everyone. He knew he couldn't win the child over that way. He need Manu to like him, to love him. He had to change his tactics.

"Maybe you're right," he shrugged gripping the chains of the swing and resting his weight on them. "After all, I didn't have a father like yours. My father didn't love me the way your dad loved you and I didn't care about him nearly as much as you cared about Mohinder. That's why you're willing to die just to please your father."

Manu turned back to him stare up at his kidnapper, confusion and fear clear on his face. "What?"

The man had to resist the sudden urge to smirk as he adjusted his weight to his other leg. "Look at yourself, Manu. You're weak. You're dying. You won't laugh, you won't smile, you won't even eat."

"I'm in mourning!" the boy argued. "In my culture, we mourn our dead for thirteen days. It's only been _three_!"

"And that's okay. It's okay to mourn. It's okay to grieve over the loss of someone you loved. But it's not okay to stop living. Mohinder would have wanted you to live. That's why he had you. So that you can live and grow and become something wonderful."

"I won't forget about him," he said firmly. "You cannot just make me forget and try to replace my father."

"I don't want to _replace_ anyone," he stressed, resting his hand comfortably on top of Manu's. "And I don't want you to forget. Your father will always be with you so long as you remember him." Tears began to well up in the corners of Manu's eyes as Sylar gave him a gentle smile. "You're a good son. Any man would be proud to call you his child and wherever Mohinder is now, he's thinking about you."

It was then that the Indian boy did something Sylar didn't expect. He threw his arms around the man's next, and buried his face into his chest. Sylar smiled, holding the child tightly as he cried into his chest. He knew Manu didn't love him yet. He knew it would take more than a tearful hug after a heart warming speech to win over a child who had been taught to hate you, but he also knew that this was a very good start.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg

**Chapter 9**

Mohinder's letter arrived a day after Mrs. Suresh had called him. Peter was surprised, yet thankful, that the woman had shipped it so quickly. More surprising than that was how long the letter had been. Mrs. Suresh had put it mildly she had called the letter "a little thick." Mohinder had managed to fill twelve whole pages, front and back in his small, careful, print. Peter had flipped through the sheets several times, dumbfounded and unable to comprehend what Mohinder would need a dozen sheets of paper to explain.

The empath had decided to brew a pot of coffee before settling down to read the letter carefully.

It had started off simply enough. Peter was to be Manu's guardian in the event of his death. Mohinder explained, not surprisingly, that he had decided to make this arrangement so that Manu would be safe from Sylar.

The tone of the letter quickly shifted as the geneticist went on to list all of the holidays and special occasions that he suggested Peter and Manu should return to India to celebrate. He gave him a long list of Manu's likes (soccer, science, literature) and his dislikes (history, poetry, insects). He listed all the foods Manu liked to eat, giving him short and simple recipes, as well as what the boy was allergic to.

After a few pages, Peter started to suspect that the letter--or at least parts of it--had been written while Manu was still young as Mohinder went on to suggest games that he should play with him, songs to sing, books to read, and warned him to stay away from any films or television shows that were of a violent nature. Mohinder had even included a schedule detailing what times Manu should wake up, eat, and go to bed.

Peter smirked, as Mohinder continued to ramble on for several more pages, coming off as the most over protective parent he'd ever encountered. After six pages, Mohinder finally went into describing Manu's abilities. The child was able to control weather patterns (a power that reminded Peter of his aunt's) and Mohinder suggested that Peter help the boy gain better control of it. Peter had thought that this was why Mohinder wanted Manu to stay away from Sylar, but he was proven wrong a page later.

It was then that the geneticist went on to discuss things that made the man feel incredibly uncomfortable. Half way through the tenth page Peter felt dizzy and considered stopping. Yet he struggled to continue, knowing that Mohinder had thought this was important, and he should have the decency to respect his deceased friend's wishes.

By the time he had finished, Peter felt sick. The room was spinning, his head was buzzing, and the ground beneath him seemed to shake. He clutched the bundle of papers close to his chest. He suddenly had a sickening feeling that Sylar might blow up New York just to get his hands on this letter.

-+-+-+-

Manu was starting to worry about his own mental state. He had a feeling spending so much time alone with Sylar wasn't good for him. It disturbed him to think that what Sylar had said in the park (he refused to acknowledge that his kidnapper had taken him to a playground with toddlers) had actually made sense. Surely this alone was enough of an indication that he was going mad. To make matters worse, he had actually hugged the man. Hugged him! If his father were still alive, he would surely have been horrified to learn that he'd allowed a serial killer to hold him while he cried openly in his arms.

The boy blushed at the memory. He couldn't believe he had cried like an infant in front of so many people. His emotions were truly starting to get the better of him. He had to find away to grieve for his father without reducing himself to a sobbing wreck.

His thoughts were disturbed when a bowl a soup was placed in front of him. After their brief stay in the park, Sylar had dragged Manu into a near by diner, making the boy promise that he would try to eat his lunch without getting sick. Manu had agreed, but he didn't know if he'd actually be able to follow through on his promise. He wanted to get well enough to regain control of his abilities, but his stomach was not used to Western cooking. He chose to order for himself, fearing that Sylar might make him eat meat again (he stomach still churned with guilt at the fact that he had eaten a cow), and had requested a bowl of tomato soup and some toast.

He blushed as the waitress placed an overly affectionate hand in his hair, cooing to Sylar that he had such an adorable son before asking Manu if he wanted a treat to go with his dinner. His kidnapper beamed proudly over at him (as if _he _were really his father!) as he politely declined the offer. The women back in India had treated him much the same way. He remembered how the ladies at his father's university would coo and fawn over him, giving him treats and pinching his cheeks whenever he came to visit his father. He couldn't understand what fascinated them so. As far as Manu was concerned, he looked no different from any other child.

_Although, according to that taxi driver, my nose looks like Sylar's._ The thought made his face turn redder as he tore off pieces of his bread, intending to eat them, but instead leaving them all to float in his soup.

"Don't like the attention?" Sylar asked, a smug smirk still present on his features.

Manu bowed his head, sinking lower into his seat. "It's embarrassing," he grumbled, picking up his spoon and stirring his soup absentmindedly. Suddenly he wasn't so hungry.

"They just like you because you're special."

He frowned, testing the broth carefully and feeling indifferent to the flavor. "It's because I'm short."

Manu was well aware that he was short for his ages. Back in India, his classmates would often tease him about his size. He tried not to let it bother him, but now that he was half way around the world, in a strange country without his father's tender words to soothe him, things just seemed to get to him easily.

Sylar chuckled, shifting in his seat. Manu found it strange that the man was making such a fuss about his diet and yet he didn't bother to order anything for himself. He wondered if Sylar was running out of money. "I was short when I was your age," he mused. "But I shot up a few inches around the time I entered middle school."

"You are not my father," Manu reminded him harshly. He didn't want to hear any stories about when Sylar was young. He didn't want the man to relate to him. He wished that Sylar would act like a normal kidnapper and just lock him away in a closet instead of pretending to be his father. "We do not have the same DNA. What happened to you does _not_ relate to me."

The look Sylar gave him was enough to chill Manu to the bone. He knew that if there weren't a table between the two of them, Sylar would have reached over and slapped him across the face. He bowed his head, turning his attention back to eating his soup.

"Besides," he muttered, trying to change the subject. "Father was not a very tall man."

"What about your mother?" Sylar asked through gritted teeth, shoving his hands deep down in his pockets. Manu had a feeling he was going to be turned black and blue by the end of the night.

"I... I don't have one," he said quietly. For as long as he could remember, it had always been just him and his father. Manu had asked the man about his mother only once, and his father told him not to worry about it, so he didn't. It didn't seem important. He had his father and his grandmother to look after him. That was all he needed.

The answered didn't seem the satisfy Sylar. His appearance just grew darker as he looked away from the child. "Everybody has a mother," he muttered. "Even monsters."

"I guess that's what makes me special."


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg

**Chapter 10**

"Dead? What do you mean Mohinder's dead?"

Peter shifted awkwardly as he starred down at the crushed face of the young woman trembling in front of him. When he had come to her dorm room, her roommate had giggled and teased the two, making obscene jokes about them before she'd finally been shooed away. It didn't take long for the lighthearted mood that had once filled the cramped little space to be crushed by the news that Mohinder had passed away.

"Molly," he started apologetically, "I'm so sorry-"

"Was it Sylar?" she snapped quickly, pinning him with intense green eyes quickly filling with tears. "Did that son of a bitch finally get to him?"

"No," he whispered. "He had a heart attack, but that's not important right now."

"It seems pretty damn important to me," she said bitterly, her gaze never wavering. Peter was starting to wonder if he had made a mistake in coming to her.

Molly was not a child anymore. She was a blossoming young woman on her way to a bright future, but deep down inside it seemed that she was still as emotionally frail as ever. Peter couldn't blame her for being upset. Mohinder had saved her life and had been a father figure to her, yet she hadn't heard about his death until four days after the event.

Peter suddenly wondered if he had been the only one of Mohinder's American acquaintances that Mrs. Suresh had told of her son's passing and whether or not it would be his job to inform the rest of them. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach, but he forced those thoughts aside. He had to focus on getting Manu back first. He would make arrangements later.

"Molly," Peter tried again, crouching down beside the young woman, trying his best to regain her full attention. "I know this is all sudden, but-"

"What about his son?" she asked suddenly. "What's going to happen to him now that Mohinder's gone?"

The paramedic felt his eyes widen at her question. "Y-you knew about Manu?" he stammered. He didn't think anyone else knew about the boy besides him. Mohinder had been less than open about sharing any details about his life after leaving America, especially those involving his child. Yet given Molly's history with the Indian man, he should have figured he'd let her in on his little secret.

"Y-yeah," she sniffed, wiping at the tears that had managed to escape from her eyes. "I... I know 'bout him. Last time I saw him... It was about two... three months ago, during spring break." The brunette let out a slow quivering breath, finding it harder to speak. "He looked so much like him."

Peter nodded, reaching into his pocket to feel the folded up picture Mrs. Suresh had sent him. It was a class picture, Peter could tell as much from the cheap background and the neatly pressed school uniform Manu was wearing. The boy smiled politely at the camera, but it was clear from the look in his eyes that he was bored. After reading Mohinder's letter, he found that those eyes chilled him to the bone. They looked nothing like Mohinder's, yet were far too familiar for his own liking.

"Molly," he sighed, grasping her small pale hands in his and giving them a supportive squeeze. "I'm here, because Manu's been kidnapped."

"Sylar?" she whispered, fear and anger flashing in her eyes.

He nodded. "I think so, but I'm not sure. I need you to help me find him."

"And then what will happen?" she asked, her voice small and weak. "Where's he going to go?"

Peter gave her a lopsided smile, trying his best to put her mind at ease. "He's going to come live with me. I'm going to protect him."

Molly's expression suddenly grew dark as she gave Peter a very grim look, leaning closer to him. "So, you know?"

His throat went dry at the harsh reminder of what he'd just learned of Manu's connection to... "I know enough," he told her.

-+-+-+-

Manu clutched the television remote tightly in his hands as Sylar waved a small envelope in his face, a too friendly smile spread across his pale features. "What is it?" he asked, not at all interested in finding out what could possibly make a serial killer smile like that.

"It's a bomb," he joked as he sat down on the foot of the bed beside his hostage. "It's a present," the man stressed, wrapping an arm around Manu's shoulders, pressing him closer to his lean form. "Something to help you while you adjust."

_Adjust to what?_ He stiffened, disturbed that he was becoming so familiar with Sylar's sent as he laid the remote beside him and hesitantly took the envelope away from his kidnapper. All he had wanted was to watch the second part of his documentary in peace and try his best to ignore Sylar's ever present gaze, but the man would not be ignored. He wouldn't be satisfied until Manu snapped and told him he loved, told him he wanted the killer to be his new father. It wasn't going to happen.

Sylar rubbed the child's arm gently as he opened his "present" and discovered the contents. His heart sank as he pulled out a picture of his father. An incredibly old picture of his father. From the looks of it, Manu had not even been a thought when the photograph had been taken as he had never seen the man looking so young and energetic. There were crease marks running through the photograph and the edges were worn out. Clearly, Sylar had been carrying this picture around with him for a very long time.

"Do you like it?"

Manu forced himself to smile up at the man, certain that if he did not show some form of gratitude Sylar would smack him twice as hard as he had last night. The ugly black mark on his cheek still throbbed as he remembered Sylar's massive hand striking his cheek. "It's very... thoughtful," he offered.

Sylar backed away from him, turning himself so that he was now face to face with Manu. "I'm sorry," he told him, lifting the boy's head so that he could look him in the eye. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't want to, but you made me. It's going to take time for you to adjust to your new situation, I understand that, but you're going to have to learn to respect me. Do you understand me?"

The child nodded, knowing that this was what Sylar wanted him to do. He was starting to feel like a pet being house broken. Sylar was teaching him tricks, forcing him to obey just to please his sick twisted mind. He wondered if this was one of Sylar's abilities. Could he brain wash people into behaving how he wanted them to? Or was he really developing Stockholm syndrome?

His kidnapper smiled, bending down to kiss his unmarred cheek. "Let's go get something to eat," he suggested, running his hands through Manu's soft black hair. "Today's our last day in this hotel room."

Manu felt his ears perk up at the man's comment. "Our last day?" he repeated. "Where are we going?"

"I found an apartment. I think you'll like it. Your father did."


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg

**Chapter 11**

From the moment Sylar had opened the door, Manu knew that he did not like this apartment. Something told him that horrible things had happened here. This was a place of death and he wanted no part of it. Yet he knew that he had no choice but to stay. Sylar had chosen this apartment and he would have no say in the matter.

He did his best to remain quiet as he walked through the front door. The apartment was surprisingly dark, even considering the setting sun's weak beams seeping in through the windows. The walls were painted an ugly shade of dark green that clashed with the bright yellow colored floor. The child scowled, looking down at the unusual patterned tiles and watched as a cockroach scurried in front of his feet. There was hardly any furniture to be seen, just a flimsy table and a few milk crates that Manu assumed were used as chairs.

"It's not much," Sylar began, dropping their bags to the floor with an audible thud. "I'll buy some furniture tomorrow."

Manu said nothing as he continued to wander around the apartment, studying every imperfection with a critical eye. There were only two bedrooms. One was tucked away into the far corners of the apartment, windowless and nearly pitch black. The other was much smaller, but had two windows which gave it a more welcoming feel. Manu walked into the second room, silently claiming it as his own, although he knew that Sylar probably would not allow it.

As the child sat down on the cold tiled floor, flooding his legs underneath his body, he began to think about his father. He wondered if Sylar was telling the truth. Was this really his father's old apartment? Was it the same apartment that his grandfather had rented when he had made the journey to New York in search of people like him? If it was true, then three generations of Suresh had resided under this leaky roof.

The Indian boy sighed, pulling out the picture Sylar had given him earlier that day, unfolding it carefully and studying the smiling face of his young father. Had Sylar taken this picture from his father? Or his grandfather? How long had his kidnapper been carrying this photograph?

So many questions flooded his young mind and he couldn't find the answers to any of them. All he knew was that he had never felt so alone, so trapped as he did at that very moment. No one was coming for him since he knew than that his poor grandmother probably thought that he was dead. He was trapped here, in this horrible little apartment, with the serial killer who had murdered his grandfather and countless others. He couldn't help wondering just how long Sylar planned to keep him. Would he lose interest in him once he became an awkward teenager or did the murderer plan on holding him hostage well into his adulthood?

Manu was suddenly pulled out of his gloomy thoughts when he heard the soft echo of footsteps approaching him. He didn't bother to look up as Sylar sat down beside him, his too familiar warmth making his stomach tie itself into little knots.

"Sorry there's no bed," Sylar muttered. Somehow, Manu knew that his kidnapper's eyes were trained on the fading picture he held in his small hands. "I brought some sleeping bags for us, but I promise I'll get you a real bed tomorrow."

An uneasy silence filled the room as Sylar reached out to stroke Manu's hair, but the child duck away from his touch. He knew he shouldn't have done that, but it was an automatic reaction. "I'm sorry," Manu whispered, hoping that his lie would buy him some forgiveness. "I just... I want to go home."

Even as he tried his best to brace himself for the blow he was certain his capture would deliver, he still flinched as the man sighed and wrapped his strong hands around his middle. He lifted the child by his waist and pulled him into his lap, cradling him protectively like an infant. "I know you do," he murmured. "But this is your home now. You'll learn to be happy here. Do you want to sleep in this room?" Manu nodded. "Then this will be our bedroom." The child cringed at his kidnapper's words. He didn't want to share a room with anyone, it felt childish and silly, but he knew Sylar would never give him any type of freedom. "I'll get you a bed," he promised. "A nice one. And we'll decorate this room however you like."

"Can I go to school?" he asked quietly, although he already knew the answer. He missed his school friends and his teachers. He missed being with people his age and he missed adults who did not run their fingers through his hair and smelled like dried blood.

"No." The answer was firm and came quickly with no hint of hesitation.

"Then how will I learn?"

Sylar sighed, running his pale hands over his black curls the way someone would pet a frightened animal. "I'll teach you what you need to know, but you're mine now. No one else can have you."

-+-+-+-

Peter climbed the steps two at a time, conscious of the noise he was making and the fact that there was a frightened little boy waiting to be rescue just a few feet away. When he got closer to the floor Manu and Sylar were on, he was careful to move slowly, quietly to keep from alerting the serial killer to his presence. He reached out with Molly's ability and tried to get a good grasp on the situation. He could feel Manu, frightened and miserable, curled up in a fitful sleep beside Sylar's lumbering form.

The paramedic was grateful that Sylar was asleep, it meant that he would be slightly less aware of his presence when he entered, yet the fact that the two were resting side by side made getting the child away that much harder.

A deep frown colored the man's face as he studied the door to what had once been Mohinder's old apartment. Sylar obviously had a sick sense of humor to bring the boy to the place where he had tormented two other Sureshes.

He held his breath, pressing his hands flat against the hard wooden door before the familiar tingle of intangibility came over him. Pushing forward, he soon found himself standing in the vacant living room, a feeling of dread welling up inside of him. He remember the day he had walked in on Sylar while he'd been torturing Mohinder. He had died here, just a few feet from where he stood, and he could only pray that he could save this Suresh without dying again.

Peter felt his skin shivered as he turned invisible. He knew that the serial killer was still fast asleep, but he didn't want to take any chances. The paramedic crept carefully towards the bedroom door, trying his best to make as little noise as humanly possible. He took the risk of opening the door with his bare hands, knowing he could not use two abilities at once, and was grateful to discover that it did not creak or moan as it opened. Moonlight flooded the room, illuminating two sleeping figures, one a lanky man who still appeared to be in his early thirties, the other a small child, curled in a tight ball.

Peter's heart clenched in sympathy as he knelt down beside the boy, studying his miserable, tear stained face. He wanted so badly to just wrap the child in his arms and tell him everything would be okay, but he had to get him away from Sylar first. His skin shivered once more as he allowed himself to be visible before resting a gentle hand on the boy's small shoulder. Long eyelashes slowly fluttered open to reveal deep brown eyes. When Manu saw him, his mouth instantly flew open, ready for a scream to pour out, but Peter was quick and cupped his hand gently over the child's mouth.

_"My name is Peter Petrelli,"_ he thought, projecting the words into the child's mind. The little boy's eyes widened as his whole body went ridged. Apparently Manu had not encountered many evolved humans aside from himself and his father. _"I'm a friend of your father. Your grandmother sent me here to rescue you. I need you to keep quiet so I can get you out of here."_

Manu nodded, panic still clear in his wide eyes.

Peter gently slipped his arm around the child's back and hooked his other under his legs, his eyes carefully studying Sylar's still form as he lifted the boy towards him. Slowly, carefully, Peter stood up, turning the two of them invisible as he walked towards the front door. Through his empathic abilities he was able to feel Manu's emotions come flooding over him. The child's mind was a tangled web of fear, confusion, and sorrow. It was all too much for a nine year old child to deal with, but Peter was determined to try to make it all better.

They were just a foot away from the front door when everything went all wrong.

"Petrelli."

His heart stopped dead in his chest as Manu whimpered at the sound of Sylar's voice. He turned slowly, allowing his body to become visible again, and studied the serial killer's form. The hate burning in the other man's eyes was like nothing Peter had ever seen before. He stood in the doorway, hunched over and radiating with hate. One hand was glowing bright red while the other was a cool blue. Sparks flew across the man's body and Peter suddenly feared that in his fury Sylar might end up hurting Mohinder's son.

"Put him down."

"I won't let you hurt him anymore," he warned him, clutching Manu's trembling body closer to his.

"Do you really think I'd hurt my own son?"

Peter had to keep himself from flinching at the words. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if Sylar knew the truth, but pushed that thought aside. Sylar was insane, nothing more. If Mohinder had had a pet turtle, the murderer would probably have taken it and called it his child.

"I think you're a sick man who'd kidnap a little boy in the middle of his father's funeral," Peter spat.

Sylar flinched as if he had been struck and clenched his fists tighter. "Put him down," he ordered, "and let's settle this like men."

Peter hesitated, not wanting to let Manu go, but he knew he couldn't defend him if he was still carrying the child in his arms. Reluctantly, he placed the little Indian boy on the ground, but Manu wrapped his arms around Peter's leg and held onto him anyway.

"Don't let him take me," Manu whispered. "Please."

"Manu," Sylar barked, just as Peter reached down to stroke the child's bruised cheek. "Get back in our room and wait for me."

Manu looked up at him, desperation clear in his too familiar eyes and Peter flashed the child a lopsided smile. "I'll come get you," he promised. "Now go hide."

The child sniffled, nodding his head slowly as he slipped away, careful to stay away from the glow of Sylar's hands. Once the child had disappeared back into the bedroom, locking the door behind him, Sylar sent out a telekinetic wave and sent Peter flying backwards. His head slammed into a wall with a sickening thud and he felt his shoulder blade pop out of place. Yet before he could allow his body to mend itself, Sylar was on him. His right hand, still glowing with radiation, wrapped itself around his throat while the other one clenched his shattered arm, freezing it in place.

"So this is how it is?" Sylar hissed, pressing down on Peter's windpipe as he cooked his tender skin. "I take away your brother, now you're here to take all I have left of Mohinder?"

Peter wheezed, struggling to stay conscious as his mind scrambled for a power he could summon to get Sylar away from him. Even with his healing abilities, he still needed to breath. If Sylar kept crushing and burning his throat like this, he would "die" just long enough for the serial killer to take the child and get away from him.

"M-Mohinder's gone," he gasped, trying to buy himself a bit of time. "Y-you have to deal with that!"

"Do I?" he hissed. "Do _you_? Did you ever really care about Mohinder? Obviously not, otherwise you would have contacted Nakamura, gone back in time, and kept him from dying!"

The paramedic hissed as the ice spread up his arm and across his body. He had considered doing just that when Mrs. Suresh first told him about her son's death, but he had pushed that thought aside. Dead is dead. He'd learned a long time ago that he had no right to tamper with fate. If it was Mohinder's time, then it was his time. "I'm... not God," he wheezed.

"Clearly," Sylar spat, slamming Peter's head back against the wall. The world blurred for just a moment before coming back together. Clearly the serial killer was more agitated than usual. Their fights didn't normally last this long. "That boy is all that's left of Mohinder Suresh. It's only right that he should belong to me now."

He wanted to scream that Manu was not his son, but he bit his tongue. He knew that was a lie, and the second he said it, so would Sylar, then things would be much worse. "He's not a puppy!" he rasped. "He's a frightened little boy who just lost his father."

"_I'm_ his father now! You'll see. We're going to be a happy family and he'll learn to love me."

It was then that he knew exactly what ability to use. It was one that the serial killer had never seen before. His face started to feel flushed as the world became tinged in a reddish hue. Sylar cocked his head curiously when he noticed the way Peter's eyes were starting to glow, but he was too late to do anything as a massive red beam erupted from Peter's eyes and slammed Sylar in his face. The serial killer went flying backwards, crashing out the widow and landing a few feet away.

Peter gasped, squeezing his eyes closed in order to stop the beam of destructive force and give his body time to heal. When his arm thawed and the skin on his neck was once again smooth, he popped his arm back into his socket and pushed himself off of the floor. He trudged towards the room Manu had disappeared into and eased the door open. He saw the child pressed against the far wall, curled into a tight ball with his eyes squeezed shut and his hands cupped firmly over his ears. The sight made his heart ache, but at least he could take comfort in the fact that Manu would be safe now.

"Manu?" he called, noticing that it had gotten much colder in the small space since he had left. The child looked up at him, and happy tears instantly sprang into his eyes. He smiled as he once again lifted the child into his arms and gave him a reassuring squeeze. "Let's get out of here."


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg  
**Author's Note: **Sorry it took so long for me to continue this fic, but I finally have an ending in mind that I can live with. I've got the next two chapters written and the 15th and final part is in the works. Hopefully I'll be able to start updating regularly and get this series done soon. Thank you all for your patience and sticking with this story when it seemed like it was dead.

**Chapter 12**

"You can sleep in here for tonight," Peter said as he turned down the comforter and fluffed up the pillows for the fifth time.

When he had brought Manu home, he'd felt so awkward and unprepared. His apartment felt like a cliched bachelor pad for all that it lacked in the way of child care. He had no clothes for the child to wear, no extra bed for him to sleep in, and nothing that a nine year old (from another culture at least) would want to eat. So after the child had washed himself, Peter gave the boy an oversized shirt to wear, his bed to sleep in, and a promise that he'd figure out breakfast in the morning.

"I'm... I'm not really tired," Manu said, his voice soft and polite as he fingered the sleeves of his too long night clothes.

Peter sighed, running an uneasy hand through his floppy brown hair, as he sat down on the bed and motioned for Manu to sit beside him. The child did so, a bit hesitantly, and purposely left a small gap between them. The empath knew what was troubling the boy and he could only wish that he could take away the worries and fears that surrounded the Indian child. "Manu, I know this is all... _different_, but you need to get some sleep."

"Sylar," he began quietly and Peter would have given anything to never hear that trembling tone on the child's voice again. "Is he... Did you... Did you kill him?"

The paramedic couldn't imagine feeling like more of a failure than he did at that moment. He sighed, placing a gentle hand on the boy's shoulders, grateful when he flinched but did not pull away. "No, he's still alive," he told him regretfully. "He's... you know what a Special is right?" Manu gave him a nod, but remained quiet. "Well, obviously Sylar is a Special and his ability is a bit complicated. He can... collect abilities and one of the ones he's collected was cell regen... er, um, _healing_. So it makes him sort of difficult to kill."

Manu nodded his head solemnly, taking in Peter's words. "So he's still out there," the boy concluded. "He'll always be out there."

Peter felt his heart ache with remorse. The need to grab the boy and hold him against his chest was overwhelming, but he fought against it. He had just met Manu and after all the things the child had been through, the last thing he would need was a stranger holding him and awkwardly attempting to comfort him. "Well, that's why your dad asked me to protect you," Peter explained. "He gave me custody of you, because I have an ability too, one that's sort of like Sylar's."

Manu frowned, gazing up at him with slightly confused brown eyes. "So does that mean I have to stay here? In New York?"

The paramedic's throat tightened. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't possible tell the child he wouldn't be allowed to go back home, to see his grandmother ever again, but at the same time he knew that this was what Mohinder had wanted. He had wanted Manu to be with Peter, to be protected and safe from Sylar. Although he doubted that the Indian ever would have considered Sylar finding out about Manu like this. "Well, um, we can try to work something out later."

"Can I call my grandmother? Please?" the boy pleaded. "I... I need to talk to her... to tell her that I'm alright."

Peter smiled, reaching into his pocket and handing the child his cell phone. "Of course you can," he assured him, getting up to give the boy some privacy. "Take your time."

Manu was already dialing before Peter could even reach the door. The paramedic was thankful that he could do that much for the child. Still, this only made their situation even more complicated. He suddenly couldn't help thinking about what Sylar had said to him about rescuing Mohinder.

Peter sighed, rubbing at his tired brown eyes. He knew it was wrong to play God, to tamper with matters such as life and death, but at that moment he felt tempted. He wanted so badly to turn back time and keep Mohinder from having his heart attack. If he did, Mohinder would be alive, Manu would still have a father, and he would never have to have met Sylar. Instead, the child was going to have to grow up without the only parent he'd ever known and would spend the rest of his life being chased by a serial killer.

Time crawled by. Peter busied himself straightening out his apartment and studying the limited supply of food in his refrigerator and cabinets. He would have to go shopping in the morning. The man was half way through his grocery list when he noticed that it was nearly two in the morning. He didn't want to interrupt the conversation between Manu and his grandmother, but he had a feeling that Mohinder would not approve of his son staying up so late.

When he re-entered the bedroom, he saw that Manu was already fast asleep, his head half buried in the pillow and the phone still resting on his ear. Peter gently pulled the cell phone away from the child's face, only to find that Mrs. Suresh was still on the other line.

_This is going to be one massive phone bill_, Peter thought wearily as he cradled the phone between his cheek and shoulder, using his hands to pull the sheets around Manu's sleeping form.

"Mrs. Suresh?" Peter whispered, brushing a gentle hand against Manu's soft black curls.

"Oh, Mr. Petrelli." The woman's voice came in a quivering sob, the sound causing Peter's heart to clench. "I can't thank you enough."

"It's alright," he assured her. "Everything's going to be alright now."

-+-+-+-

Manu barely remembered falling asleep. He only realized that he'd been unconscious after he'd woken. While the child was sleeping, a stranger entered the apartment. He had barely heard the front door opening and the sound of unfamiliar footfalls approaching him, but as soon as the noises registered in his mind he was wide awake.

Terror immediately entered his heart as he imagined that the intruder was Sylar come to take him away. His heart hammered in his chest as he curled up into a tight ball, listening intensely as the stranger approached. The door creaked open and Manu felt his whole body begin to tremble. He felt certain that any second now Sylar would reach out and grab him, clasping a pale hand over his mouth and drag him away.

That moment never came. Instead, someone completely unfamiliar pulled back the sheets and stared down at Manu in confused shock. In the darkness, Manu could not clearly make out the man's features, but he knew for certain that this was not Sylar, yet that did not put him at ease. The stranger was tall -- possibly as tall as Sylar -- with unkempt hair and a gruff beard. The two stared at each other for a while before Peter came rushing into the room and pulled the stranger out.

Peter had apologized profusely to Manu before suggesting that he get back to sleep, closing the door behind him. It was then that the child realized that Peter Petrelli was not the innocent man he had thought him to be.

-+-+-+-

Claude Rains expected a lot of things from Peter Petrelli. He expected that the paramedic would always put his whole heart into whatever he pursued no matter how foolish it was. He expected him to care about others more than himself. He expected that the younger man would keep his favorite beer cold and waiting for him in the fridge. He expected that he'd always have a warm spot in his bed waiting for him whenever he felt like dropping by and wouldn't ask any questions about when he'd come again or where he had been. Yet the British man had never expected Peter to have a child.

Words could not describe the tidal wave of emotions that had sprung up inside of the Brit when he saw the little boy curled up between Peter's sheets. Even after the younger man had dragged him out of the room they occasionally shared, Claude still felt his mind reeling as a series of questions filled his head.

"Who the bloody hell was that?" Claude all but barked, not bothering at all to be mindful of the time or the child in the other room.

"Keep your voice down," Peter ordered as he pulled Claude into the kitchen. The empath quickly reached into his refrigerator and pulled out a can of beer, handing it to the other man without a moment's hesitation. "Drink this," he instructed. "You'll need it."

The British man frowned as he opened the can, the confusion inside of him only increased as he took a slow sip of his beer. He wished that Peter had remembered to purchase bottles. The young man knew he liked to drink his beer out of bottles, not cans. "Who's the kid?" he asked again, this time in a much calmer, quieter voice.

"Do you remember Mohinder Suresh?" he whispered, mindful not to disturb the child in the other room. Claude nodded and Peter continued. "He died about a week ago. That's... that's his son. Manu. Mohinder gave me custody of him in his will, so he's going to be living with me from now on."

Claude felt his grip tighten around the can as he digested Peter's words. He couldn't help but feel jealous at the idea of having to share Peter with someone, even if it was a child. Yet he knew that deep down inside Peter wanted children. The empath wouldn't admit it to anyone -- not even himself -- but he had wanted to be a father ever since he'd found out about his brother's death. The opportunity had simply never presented itself. Until now.

"Ya coulda warned me about this," he muttered, taking another pull at his beer. "Given me some sort of heads up."

"How Claude?" Peter asked; exasperation clear in his sharp tone. "I never know where you are or when you'll come around. You just show up whenever you please, eat my food, drink my beer, sleep with me, and leave."

Claude downed the rest of his beer, trying his best to avoid Peter's angry stare. He had always thought they had a good arrangement. He got what he wanted -- somewhere safe to go whenever he was tired of sleeping out in the cold -- and Peter got what he needed -- a warm body and someone to help relieve the stress when it was too much for him to take. They had their rules, they kept things casual, and they never said "I love you," but the older man knew that Peter secretly wanted more. That's one of the many reasons the younger man would occasionally turn to Suresh. He wanted to make Claude jealous, to make the man admit that he felt something. The Brit would never admit it out loud, but the plan always worked.

"There's more," Peter sighed, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out another beer for Claude to consume.

"What? You gonna tell me he's your biological son and Suresh only just told you now?"

Peter laughed nervously, shaking his head at the older man. "Not exactly," he whispered. His voice became low as he leaned in closely to him and told him the whole story. He explained about how Mohinder had gained artificial abilities several years ago that had triggered a horrible mutation in the Indian man. It was during this time that the geneticist had slept with Sylar and had accidentally gotten pregnant. That pregnancy had resulted in the boy sleeping in his bedroom.

Claude practically swallowed the entire can in one gulp after hearing the younger man's story. His heart hammered and his head reeled. "Ya mean ta tell me that the little brat is Sylar's kid?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly in spite of his best efforts. "Does he know about him?"

"Yes and no," he shrugged. "He knows about Manu -- he kidnapped him the day after Mohinder died -- but he doesn't seem to know that they're related. Neither does Manu."

The British man frowned, giving the empath a very pointed stare. "He coulda been yours then," he snapped.

Peter only laughed sheepishly. "Not the way we did it," he admitted.

Claude's frown only deepened at Peter's joke. He didn't like thinking about the young man with anyone else, but he'd never admit it, especially not this late into their relationship. What right did he have to hold Peter back from doing anything?

"You gonna tell him?" he asked, wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"When he's ready."

"What happens when _he_ finds out?"

There was no "if" about it. Sylar would find out eventually. Claude had never met the serial killer face to face before, but he knew well enough how dangerous he was. He'd heard the stories and he had seen the scars the man had left on Peter.

"We'll deal with that when it happens," Peter said quietly.

The Brit was about to press him for more answers when he noticed the American's eyes go towards his bedroom. Claude followed his gaze and saw that the boy, Manu, was now sheepishly peeking at them from the crack of the door. Knowing that he had been spotted, Manu came out towards the two men instead of slipping back into the darkness of the bedroom, and for that he had earned a little bit of Claude's respect.

The man had not seen Mohinder Suresh in a few years, but from what he could remember of the man, he saw the strikingly strong resemblance between the Indian and his child. It was uncanny and a bit unnerving.

"Were you listening to us Manu?" Peter asked calmly. Claude rolled his eyes at the silly question.

"Yes," Manu admitted, bowing his head in shame. "I did not hear much. Just that... that there was something you did not want to tell me."

Peter sighed as he motioned for the boy to come towards him. Manu did as instructed, obediently coming to stand before his guardian. Peter knelt down in front of the half Indian child and looked him straight in the eye. "I'm sorry to keep secrets from you," he told him tenderly. "It's just... you've been through so much lately. I don't want to upset you. "

"I'm nine years old," the boy told him. "I can handle whatever it is you have to tell me."

The empath gave the child a weak smile, running his hands over the boy's black curls soothingly. "I know. You're a very brave boy, but it's late and what I have to say can wait until morning."

"You will tell me tomorrow?"

Peter frowned, biting his lip nervously as he turned his wide brown eyes towards Claude. The British man shrugged, at a complete loss. He didn't know how to handle children (unless you counted Peter) and he knew even less about telling someone that their father was actually more like a mother and that the person who had kidnapped them was actually their biological sire. Just thinking about the situation made Claude want another beer.

"I promise I'll tell you," Peter said and Claude had to applaud him for leaving himself so much room to get out of his obligation. "Now go back to bed. I promise we'll be quiet."

Peter started to turn the boy back towards the master bedroom, but the child stiffened frightfully when his eyes landed on Claude. The British man knew right away that the child was afraid of him -- as most children were -- but he thought nothing of it.

"Who is he?" the little boy whispered fearfully.

The paramedic's face flushed bright red at the question. He felt a bit of sympathy for the younger man. Their relationship was complicated enough as it was, describing it to nine year old child would be next to impossible, without teetering on inappropriate discussion.

"He's... uh... he's...."

"Is he your father?"

The British man felt his eyes narrow at the child's seemingly innocent question. He suddenly remembered why he had never bothered to have any children of his own.

"He's actually my boyfriend," Peter clarified, trying his best to suppress the laugh building inside of him. He failed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg

**Chapter 13**

"Well my waffle iron is still busted," Peter explained apologetically, "but look! Square pancakes!"

Claude scowled as Peter placed a small stack of his "waffle-cakes" onto his plate. "Square pancakes?" he asked skeptically. "How old are ya again?"

A small pink blush spread across Peter's cheeks as he tried his best to ignore the other man's words. He had to admit he was a bit surprised when he woke up that morning and found that Claude was still there, sleeping peacefully beside him on the couch. Usually the British man slipped out before he could wake up, but for some reason, Claude had decided to stay. He didn't ask him why knowing that the older man probably wouldn't give him a direct answer anyway, but he was grateful.

Manu frowned slightly as Peter placed two pancakes on his plate. The child wasn't used to American food, and while Peter had tried to learn some of the recipes Mohinder had given to him, it was still going to take a while before he could make anything that would even come close to what the child was used to.

"What's the matter?" Claude asked the child, elbowing him gently in his side. "Never had pancakes before?"

Manu shook his head slowly, picking up his fork and poking at the square breakfast food curiously.

Claude clucked his tongue as he reached across the table for the butter stick and the bottle of syrup. "Well, then I'll just teach ya how," he grumbled, before proceeding to show the little boy how to properly eat waffle-cakes.

The paramedic couldn't help smirking at the scene. In a way, they almost looked like a real family. His smile widened as he slid into a seat next to Manu, watching as the child cut off a small triangle of pancake and hesitantly popped it into his mouth, carefully testing the flavor.

"How's it taste?" he asked, pouring Claude a cup of coffee.

"Fine," the child whispered, cutting off another piece.

The paramedic sighed, studying the boy's face. He knew the child wanted to ask him something, he was just waiting for the right moment, and Peter was dreading every second of it. He didn't want to be the one to tell Manu the truth about how he was born, but since he was the boy's guardian, it didn't look like he had much of a choice in the matter.

"Claude?" Peter began, trying his best to take his mind off of the unpleasant task he'd inevitably have to perform. "I gotta work today, you think you could-"

"No."

The younger man scowled at his partner's blunt response. He should have known he'd get that sort of response from the older man. The paramedic was about to say something, when he was suddenly cut off by the sound of the phone ringing off the hook. He sighed, pushing himself away from the table and heading towards his cordless house phone.

"Hello?" he greeted into the receiver.

"Having fun playing house?"

Peter felt his breath catch in his throat as his fingers tightened on the phone's neck. His eyes quickly glanced towards Manu, before he calmly slipped away into the back room. "What do you want?" he whispered tightly.

"I want my son back."

The paramedic felt his stomach tie itself into a tight knot. He knew this was coming, but frankly he was a bit caught off guard. He wouldn't have expected Sylar to do something as indirect and passive as calling him up on the phone. It didn't seem like his style.

"You can't have him," Peter told him firmly. "Mohinder gave me custody so that I could protect him from you."

"He did it to spite me." The other man was practically seething and Peter wondered if he should have said that. Sylar already had a personal vendetta against him and reminding the man about his relationship with the geneticist could only make things worse.

"And you think you'd make a better parent? You're a serial killer!"

"I love him!" Sylar snapped. The younger man could feel a lump forming in the pit of his stomach at the murderer's declaration. He couldn't imagine Sylar loving anything, yet he claimed to love Mohinder's child who he had kidnapped, beaten, and bullied. "That's more than what you can say."

"Well at least I've never raised my hand to a nine year old."

"Children need discipline," he replied flatly, his tone hinting at boredom. "How else will they learn?"

Peter frowned thoughtfully as he walked towards the window. Something didn't feel right. Sylar was stalling, waiting for something. He tapped into Molly's ability and concentrated on Sylar. He could see him, just a few blocks away and heading towards his apartment. His heart was hammering in his chest as he dropped the phone and marched into his dining room.

"We're getting out of here," Peter announced, causing Manu and Claude to stare at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted a second head.

"We're still eatin'," Claude grumbled, shoveling another forkful of pancake into his mouth.

The younger man sighed rolling his eyes irritably as he walked over to Manu and scooped him up in his arms, causing the child to yelp and drop his fork to his plate. He felt guilty for pulling the child away before he could finish his breakfast or even change out of his pajamas, but he couldn't take the risk of having Sylar find him. "Well, _we're_ leaving," he said. "You coming?"

Claude shrugged, but didn't move from his place on the table. Peter knew he was going to take him anyway; he wouldn't leave Claude there to confront an irritated Sylar. Without a second thought, he grasped the British man's shoulder and teleported.

-+-+-+-

Peter tried not to notice as his mother's scowl deepened at the sight of the Indian child wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt sitting in her living room. Instead, he tried his best to focus on sorting through the box of his childhood clothing. Manu was smaller than Peter had been at that age, but he was sure he could find something for the boy to wear.

"So how long do you plan on staying here?" she clipped, tapping her foot impatiently against the tiled floor.

"I dunno," Peter said truthfully, checking an orange and blue stripped shirt for holes. "Sylar will probably figure out that I'd come here."

Angela's frown deepened as she took a few steps closer to him, lowering her voice so that only Peter could hear her. "And how long do you think you can keep running from him? He's going to find you eventually."

The young man scowled, turning his disapproving brown eyes towards his mother. "What do you want me to do, Mom?" Peter snapped irritably. "Mohinder gave Manu to me so that I could protect him."

"Peter," she began, placing a bony hand on his arm. "You can't hide forever. You have a life, a job-"

"I won't let Sylar have him."

Angela pressed her thin lips into a narrow line as she tightened her grip on her son's arm. He didn't care what his mother had to say, he wouldn't let the woman talk him out of this. She may have become more sentimental since Nathan's passing, but deep inside, his mother was still the same cold, calculating woman she'd always been.

"I know you, Peter," she whispered. "You've always been the sentimental one, and when you look into that little boy's frightened brown eyes, you melt. You see the son you've always wanted, but never had. But he is not _your_ son."

The paramedic scowled, bowing his head and swallowing past the lump that was quickly forming in his throat. Of course she was right, with her insightful, piercing eyes and natural ability to read people, it was impossible for her to ever be wrong. Yet he still felt a bit of himself hating her for digging at old wounds.

"What do you want me to do?" he sighed. "Throw him out on the street and let Sylar take him? He's insane. He'll kill him."

"He's also his father," the woman reminded him.

Peter frowned as he turned to look at Manu who was sitting on the couch and patiently waiting for someone to tell him what to do. It wasn't fair for Sylar to put the child in this sort of situation. He was a nine year old boy. He didn't deserve to constantly be looking over his shoulder, wondering if a serial killer was going to spring out and take him away. He deserved to live a normal life, go to school, make friends, and dream of the bright future Mohinder had wanted for him.

"Maybe I should send him back to India," he murmured, guilt twisting his stomach even as he spoke. "Take him back to his grandmother."

Angela let out a short, bitter laugh at his words, tapping her polished finger nails on the dining room table. "And leave that defenseless woman to protect him from Sylar?"

The man turned and glared at his mother. "So in your eyes, keeping him is a bad idea and sending him home is even _worse_?" he snapped in bitter frustration. "What the hell do you want me to do, Mom?"

She sighed, leaning in closely as she shook her head at her son's words. "You're overlooking a golden opportunity here, Peter," she told him. "We have something, something that Sylar wants. Something he'd do anything for. Maybe even stop killing for."

Peter felt his face turn several shades whiter at the very idea. It was true, countless lives could be saved if he were to strike some sort of deal with Sylar -- Manu had even told him that Sylar had brought up the idea of no longer killing to please the child -- but he could never bring himself to sacrifice Manu for the greater good. He felt sick inside at the very notion of taking a frightened little boy and using him as bartering tool.

"I can't do that! Manu's counting on me to protect him!"

"Well you've already failed him," Angela clipped, crossing her hands in front of her as she stared up at her only living son. "Once Sylar finds out that Manu is his biological child, he'll double his efforts to get him back and the fury that that man will strike you with will be like nothing you've ever experienced."

"That's not going to happen," Peter snapped. "He won't get his hands on that letter."

His mother sighed, rolling her eyes wearily at him. Obviously there was something that she had caught onto that Peter hadn't seen. "Where is Sylar headed Peter?"

"I already told you," he said slowly, not quite seeing where the woman was going with this. "He's on his way to my apartment."

"And where is Mohinder's letter?"

Peter's eyes widened as her words suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. His knees buckled, causing him to reach out and grasp the table tightly in his hands. In his panic and hurry to leave the apartment, he had forgotten to take Mohinder's letter with them. Sylar would have seen and read the whole thing by now.

"Shit," he breathed. "What am I gonna do?"

Angela placed a tender hand on his shoulder, genuine pity clear in her dark brown eyes. "First, you're going to have to tell that little boy the truth."

+-+-+-+

Sylar scowled, nudging the shattered remains of the table with the tip of his toe. Maybe he'd over reacted. Or maybe he should continue his needless, destructive hissy fit by destroying the rest of Petrelli's apartment.

The serial killer groaned, scrubbing at his face furiously. He was tried and frustrated and he should have known better than to call Petrelli before showing up. It just gave the man a head start, a chance to grab the kid and get away. It was sloppy and he wasn't thinking straight. All he could think about was how much he missed Manu. They had only been apart for less than a day, but it already felt too long.

It was strange to think that just a few days ago he had hated the child, resented him for what he represented, for everything he had that Sylar didn't, but now... he missed him. He missed the feel of the boy's small hand in his. He missed running his long fingers through Manu's black curls. He missed being able to hold him, to kiss him.

Sylar realized then that he loved the boy, honestly loved him the way any father would his child, and it wasn't just because Manu was Mohinder's child, it was because of Manu himself. Manu was special, he could feel it and there was something so... familiar about him, about his spirit.

The murderer sighed, running a frustrated hand through his black hair. He needed to get Manu back at all costs. There was no way he was going to sit back and allow Petrelli to keep him. Peter may have been smart enough to leave his apartment without a trace, but he had a feeling the younger man wasn't nearly clever enough to actually get out of the city. He already knew just where he would have hidden Manu.

It was then that his eyes caught sight of something, something that shouldn't have stood out to him, but it did. He marched into Petrelli's bedroom, and saw the thick stack of papers sitting on top of his night stand. They were old, yellowed along the edges, and looked as if they had been folded, and reread several times. He picked up the papers and saw that they were written in Mohinder's careful hand. He flipped through the pages, and his eyes suddenly drifted over words he never would have expected to see.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg

**Chapter 14**

Manu felt a rock form in the pit of his stomach when he noticed Peter Petrelli walk into the living room. He could tell by the solemn look in his guardian's eyes that he had something to say, something important. His heart hammered in his chest as the American sat down beside him, studying his face carefully before resting a gentle hand on top of his shoulder.

"We need to talk," Peter whispered, and from the slight hitch in his tone, it was clearly about something even Peter didn't really want to discuss.

"Is this about Sylar?" Manu asked, noticing the way the man winced at his question.

He sighed, shifting in his seat and making sure that he was facing the Indian child. "Did your dad," he began haltingly, "did he ever talk to you about how you were born? Where you came from?"

Manu's heart skipped a beat at Peter's words. So this was what they were going to talk about? This was what Peter had been whispering to his strange boyfriend? It was a personal matter, one that his own father had avoided speaking about and he never would have imaged he'd finally learn about his birth from a virtual stranger.

"No," he answered quietly, licking his lips in a nervous manner. "He... he never really spoke about that."

"Well, Manu your birth was... _special_." Peter paused, running a hand through his hair as he attempted to collect his thoughts. "Do you know how babies are born? Where they come from?" Manu nodded. "Well you were born _differently_ than other babies. You see, your dad... he, uh, he had an ability. Did you know that Manu?"

Manu nodded again. "Yes. He was very strong." That was putting it quite mildly. Manu knew that his father had possessed extraordinary strength. His father did not display his ability around him often, but there had been times when Manu had caught a glimpse of it. He had once seen the man punch through a car door in anger and the memory of such an act sent a shiver through his being.

"Y-yeah," Peter started, his voice trembling as he fidgeted in his seat. "But, uh, that wasn't all he could do. There was something else, something very... _unique_ that only he could do."

Manu trembled; wrapping his arms around himself as the cold grasp of dread suddenly gripped his heart. He wished that his guardian would stop trying to find the right words and just come out with what he needed to tell him. "Mr. Petrelli," he began, "what are you trying to say?"

Peter swallowed, moving his hand from the boy's shoulder to his cheek. "Your father... he carried you Manu. He... he gave birth to you himself."

The child felt his mind buzz and his skin grow icy at the man's words. His father... No. No, that wasn't how it worked. Women gave birth. That's the natural order of things. That was... This was... "That's not possible," he blurted out, not wanting to grasp what was happening.

"Well, you control the weather and I absorb abilities," Peter pointed out, his tone light, yet awkward as he tried and failed to ease the tension building in the room.

"Then my mother?"

The paramedic bit his lip at the child's query. "You don't have one."

Hot tears suddenly flooded Manu's eyes and spilled across his reddening cheeks. This wasn't right. This wasn't the answer he was supposed to find. Peter was supposed to tell him that his mother was a brilliant, beautiful woman who would come and take care of him. She wasn't supposed to be just a figment of his imagination, a lie that he had blindly believed in. "Why are you telling me this?" Manu sobbed, wiping at the twin rivers flowing from his eyes.

Peter sighed, scooting closer to the little boy and brushing his tears away with the tips of his fingers. "Because you have another father."

The child's heart stopped dead in his chest as he gazed up at Peter with wide tear filled eyes. _Another_ father? No. No! He could only have one. He only had one. A wonderful, loving man who took care of him and protected him from all the bad things that lurked in the shadows. The boy sobbed as he childishly cupped his hands over his ears, no longer willing to hear what else Peter had to tell him. "No!" he wept. "No, no, no! I don't want to hear this!"

The paramedic frowned, scooping the child into his arms and pulling him into his lap. In spite of the emotions warring inside of him, Manu actually found himself wrapping his arms around Peter's middle and burying his face into his chest. "I'm sorry," his guardian whispered, running his tender fingers through the child's black curls. "You have to hear this. You wanted to hear this, remember?"

A lump swelled up in Manu's throat as he remember how just the other night he had demanded Peter reveal his secrets to him. He wished he could go back and change all that. "Who is he?" Manu asked, surprising himself with his own words.

"I'm sorry," Peter whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Who is he?" Manu asked again.

"It's... it's Sylar."

His heart broke. His mind whirled. The light suddenly faded from the sky as thick black storm clouds came rumbling in and blocked out the sun. "W-what?" he gasped, just before a clap of thunder erupted in the distance. "How could... you're lying!"

"I wish I was," Peter sighed, tightening his hold on Manu's small body.

The boy frowned, pushing himself out of Peter's protective embrace. "Why?" he sniffled as thunder continued to roar and the wind howled just outside the door. "How could he be my father? Father hated him! He killed my grandfather!"

"I know, I know," the man soothed, cupping Manu's cheeks in his hands. "It's just... your father was so lonely and so scared and... He needed someone, _anyone_... and Sylar was there-"

"No!" he sobbed, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. He wanted to run, to hide, to escape this horrible truth. "No! No!"

His father would never let that horrible man, that serial killing monster... Oh God! He had Sylar's blood. They were related. He suddenly remembered how the cabbie had said that their noses looked alike and he felt his stomach roll inside of him.

"How could he keep me?" Manu sobbed. "How could he even look at me?"

"Because he loved you," Peter assured, pulling the boy back to him and cradling him like a baby.

"But I'm a monster," he whimpered, his skin crawling at the admission. He felt sick, diseased. He wanted to lock himself in a bathroom and scrub at his skin until it was red and raw.

"You're _not_ a monster," Peter said firmly, squeezing the boy to him with his words. "Sylar's the monster. You're just an innocent little boy. You were _Mohinder's_ baby and he loved you more than anything in the world."

Manu continued to sob as Peter rested his cheek on top of the Indian boy's soft black hair. He didn't feel innocent or loved. He felt dirty and wrong.

-+-+-+-

That evening Manu decided to skip dinner. In spite of the fact that he had barely eaten breakfast that morning and had picked his way through lunch, the child's stomach simply felt too full of shame and worry to even entertain the idea of food. Peter was not happy. He tried to talk Manu into eating _something_, even bribing him with chocolate, but the child refused.

When night rolled around, Angela set Manu up in what she called the guest bedroom, but the room wasn't warm and inviting like their guest room in India. Despite of the modern furniture and artsy pictures decorating the walls, there was something very cold and distant about the space and Manu didn't relish the idea of spending the night alone in there.

Peter must have sensed Manu's anxiety. He volunteered to share the room with him that night. Manu had been embarrassed by the childish gesture, but accepted anyway. He was still angry at Peter for telling him about his relationship to Sylar -- the American should have known better than to reveal such horrifying information to an already frightened child -- but Manu also knew that Peter Petrelli was his best defense against the serial killer who was now stalking him. It would be wise not to completely alienate his most important ally.

The bed they shared was huge -- bigger than the bed in Peter's apartment, bigger than the beds in the hotel room he'd shared with Sylar, bigger than his father's bed back in India -- so the two were able to sleep side by side without fear of bumping into each other during the night. Still, Manu gathered some pillows and created a barrier of sorts, separating himself from Peter.

That night he dreamed of his father. He dreamed of the man turning away from him in shame as Manu's body mutated into that of a monster. Cold black scales protruded from his skin and a thin layer of slime emitted from the tips of his fingers. He had woken up with a start as a bolt of lightning turned the pitch black sky an eerie white before the rain quickly shifted into snow.

His heart pounded in his chest and his blood ran cold as he crawled over the barrier and pressed himself against Peter's sturdy form.

Peter flinched, muttering something incoherent in his sleep, before finally realizing what had occurred. "What happened?" he murmured, sleep making his voice sound rough and almost intimidating.

"Nothing," Manu lied, and then thought better of it. Peter absorbed abilities, so who was to say he didn't have Sylar's lie detection. "I just had a bad dream."

His guardian made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a moan as he stretched himself out, before wrapping a tired arm around the Indian boy's trembling body, pressing him closer. "It's okay," he half yawned. "It was just a dream. Go back to sleep."

The paramedic shivered, muttering something about how cold it had gotten as he grabbed the sheets and draped them around their bodies. Within a few minutes, Peter's breathing became slow and steady as he drifted off into a deep sleep.

Manu closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep. He tried his best to pretend that Peter's warm body was his father's; that he was back in India and had never heard of telekinetic serial killers.

-+-+-+-

Peter sighed, staring at the black clouds that had plunged the city into an early night. Thick globs of rain fell from the sky, smacking against the windows and soaking the outside world. It had been raining like this since yesterday, since he had told Manu about his parentage -- although his mother had informed him that morning that it had snowed very briefly last night -- and Peter was starting to wonder if Manu was going to accidentally cause a flood.

In that moment, he couldn't help reflecting on how beautiful and destructive Manu's powers were. Being able to manipulate the weather was a feat that many would give their right arm for -- one that he was surprised Sylar hadn't even attempted to go after -- but in the hands of an emotionally fragile little boy, it was frightening, an ability that was surely overwhelming him.

"Can I assume you spoke to him?" he heard his mother's stern voice say from just behind him.

He gave the older woman a weary look as he turned his attention away from the outside world just as a lightning bolt lit up the sky. "Yeah, I did."

"Obviously he didn't take it well," she concluded.

"Can you blame him?" Peter snapped. "The poor kid just found out that he was fathered by the same serial killer who murdered his grandfather, tormented his dad, and kidnapped him. It's not an easy thing for someone his age -- hell, it's not an easy thing to hear at any age."

Angela's features softened ever so slightly as she reached out to give his arm a reassuring squeeze. He flinched under the touch, the gesture causing hurt to flash in the woman's usually cold brown eyes. "You did the right thing Peter," she assured him. "That boy had to hear the truth sooner or later. It was just unfortunate that you had to be the one to tell him."

Peter sighed, nodding his head slowly. He wished he could take it all back. He wished it had all been a lie, but it was the truth and it was finally out. Eating away at the poor child.

"Where is he?" Angela asked, bringing her son back to the present.

"Upstairs," he told her. "He's not exactly talking to me."

She nodded and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before walking towards the other side of the room. Peter frowned in confusion at the woman's sudden departure. She had barely stepped through the door when she came back into the room, a dark, looming figure trailing close behind her. The paramedic felt his breath catch in his throat as his whole body stiffened in shock.

"Sylar?" he gasped, trying his best to push away his shock and prepare himself for the inevitable fight. "What are you doing here?"

"I called him," Angela started only to have the serial killer wave a dismissive hand in her face, silencing whatever else she had to say.

"She called me here to take the boy," Sylar cut in, speaking in his usual deep, rumbling tone. He smirked, glancing over his shoulder at Angela's startled expression before turning his gaze back to Peter. "She wanted to trade him to me in exchange for a promise that I wouldn't kill anymore Specials."

"You can't have him," Peter hissed between clenched teeth. "I won't let you anywhere near him."

"You can't stop me," the serial killer spat. "You caught me off guard last time, but I'm ready for any cute tricks you might have up your sleeve. Besides, what right do you have to keep me away from my biological son?" The paramedic's blood ran cold as he watched the killer reach into his coat pocket and slowly pull out Mohinder's letter. "Suresh wasn't much of a story teller," Sylar began, a mocking smirk gracing his lips, "but he certainly was thorough. This piece of paper proves without a shadow of a doubt that Manu is my flesh and blood."

"That doesn't mean you can take him!" the younger man snapped. "Fathering a child doesn't give you the right to be in his life."

"He's _mine_," Sylar seethed. "He's a part of me, a part of _Mohinder_. We deserve to be together."

Peter was about to say something, to hurl another insult at Sylar, but he stopped himself when he heard the sound of a door squeak open above him. All three adults turned and stared at the small child standing at the top of the stairs, staring at them with a mix of confusion and horror.

"Manu," Peter began, but he was cut off as Sylar flicked his wrist and sent him flying across the room.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.  
**Warnings:** Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg  
**Author's Note:** I know I promised this chapter a long time ago, but creative juices stopped flowing and life stuff got in the way. I apologize to anyone who was really looking forward to this conclusion, but it's here now and the chapter turned out much longer than the others, so hopefully that makes up for it. :)

**Chapter 15**

The paramedic grunted as his body crashed into a glass table, the broken shards digging into his sides and his bones breaking from the impact. His body screamed as the world around him was consumed by only red flashes of pain.

"Peter?" he heard his mother call, her voice surprisingly close and dripping with concern. "Peter, are you alright?"

His only response was a deep groan as he felt his body begin to mend his broken flesh and push out the bits of glass that dug into him.

"Are you alright?" he heard Sylar ask. At least, he thought it was Sylar, but the man's tone was completely unfamiliar. It was tender and kind and Peter knew right away just who the serial killer was talking to. "Are you okay?"

"S-stay away from me," Manu whimpered; his voice small and trembling with fear.

Once his body was healed -- although admittedly still sore -- he crawled on his hands and knees towards the stairs, ignoring his mother's concerned hands trying to pull him away or the bits of glass that dug into his palms. Sylar was at the top of the stairs, crouching down in front of Manu's frightened form. The serial killer's back was turned towards Peter, but the young man could still pick up the storm of emotions building up inside of him. There was love and concern, loneliness and pain, disappointment and regret, all bubbling and colliding in the other man's heart as he stared at the child he never knew he'd created.

"Don't talk to me that way," Sylar whispered, attempting to hide the pain in his voice under a mask of anger. "I'm your father."

"You are _not _my father!" Manu sobbed, squirming away as Sylar reached towards him, attempting to brush away the stray tears flowing down the terrified child's cheeks. "My father is dead, and he never loved me because of you! Because I'm a monster like you!"

"That's not true," Sylar said, seemingly stealing the words out of Peter's lips. "He loved you. I can tell just by looking at you that he loved you." He frowned waving Mohinder's letter under the boy's nose. "This letter is his love -- his heart and soul -- poured onto paper, detailing how much he treasured you. I may be a monster and maybe..." Peter's ears perked up as Sylar paused, swallowing back the pain that suddenly made the words nearly impossible to say, " maybe Mohinder never did love me, but he loved iyou/i. He loved you because you're everything that's good in me. All my best parts came out in you."

Peter's head was swimming as he got to his feet, still trying to put together the scene that was playing out before him. For a moment he wondered if this was all an act, a ploy to gain the boy's trust -- because he knew all too well that Sylar was a terrific actor and enjoyed playing parts to manipulate others -- but he didn't even have to read the killer's mind to know he was being honest. He could _feel_ the sincerity radiating off of his being, the love coming out with every word. This was a Sylar he never thought could exist.

He barely took a step towards the two when he felt his mother gripping his arm, her touch urging him to stop and look at her. "Leave them alone," she ordered. "Let this happen."

The paramedic frowned, pulling his arm out of Angela's hand. No. He couldn't just sit back and allow Manu to be taken away. Even if Sylar was behaving differently it didn't erase all the things that he had done, it didn't automatically mean that he was a good father.

His eyes slipped closed and with a thought, Peter felt himself disappear and then reappear on the stairs beside Manu. He watched as Sylar stiffened, caught off guard just long enough for Peter to grab Manu and take a step away from the serial killer. Yet Sylar recovered before he could do anything else. He couldn't teleport, he couldn't fly, he couldn't do anything. He was stuck there, holding Manu's trembling form against his chest and cradling the child's head against the crock of his neck.

Sylar's eyes narrow, going nearly red at the gesture. Peter could see hate and rage and heartache flashing behind the man's eyes. "Petrelli," he hissed, seethed really.

Peter merely tightened his grip on Manu, determined not to let go.

"Peter!" He stiffened at the sound of his mother's voice, but his gaze never left Sylar's dark features. "Peter you have to stop," she ordered, walking briskly up the stairs.

"I'm not just going to hand him over to a murderer! Mohinder-"

"Mohinder is _dead_, Peter," Angela snapped. Peter winced, Sylar frowned, and a silent tear escaped from Manu's eyes at the woman's blunt statement. The paramedic pressed a quick kiss to the boy's cheek, wishing his mother could be a little more sensitive to the fact that Mohinder's son was only a few feet away from her. "You may be that boy's guardian, but Sylar _is_ his father. The two of you need to come to some sort of agreement or else you'll be playing Keep Away with that poor child for the rest of his life."

"I hate to admit it, Petrelli," Sylar began, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides even as his features softened slightly, no longer burning with anger, "but your mother has a point. This isn't... healthy."

"Like you know what healthy is," Peter grumbled, slowly easing Manu back down to the floor. Yet even when the child was out of his grasp, he instinctively wrapped his arms around Peter, burying his face in his side. He heaved a reluctant sigh, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. They were right, both of them. He couldn't keep running away from Sylar, it would only hurt Manu, keeping the boy from living a normal life. The only way to give him a future that he deserved was to come to terms with Sylar. "Okay, I'm willing to work something out."

Sylar nodded and Manu's grip on him tightened. "Mr. Petrelli," Manu began hesitantly, his dark eyes filled with worry and confusion.

"Don't worry," Peter cut in, running a reassuring hand through the boy's hair. "We're just going to talk, nothing bad's going to happen, and I promise, I won't agree to anything that I know would upset you or put you in danger."

The child looked unconvinced, and why should he be? After all, the boy had only known Peter for two days and it seemed fairly obvious that Mohinder had never spoken of him (or any of his other American acquaintances) with his son. As much as Peter longed for the child to have faith in him, he didn't really see any chance of such a thing happening anytime soon. Manu opened his mouth, ready to protest or argue, but he never got the chance as Angela suddenly came up beside him, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder and gently pulling him away from Peter.

"Let's get you out of the way so these two can talk," she told him coldly, her tone no different from the one she used when speaking with adults. Peter knew that Manu was just an inconvenience in her eyes -- another warm body taking up space -- but Angela also knew that Manu held a purpose, which was the only reason he allowed the woman to take his ward away.

-+-+-+-

Manu sighed, tearing at the slice of bread placed in front of him. He peeled off the crusts and rolled them to little balls that lined the edge of his plate. After taking him away from Peter and Sylar, Mrs. Petrelli had sat Manu in the kitchen with a glass of water and a piece of buttered bread and then left the room. Mrs. Petrelli was a strange woman to be sure. She was so cold and distant, a stark contrast to his grandmother.

The Indian boy took only a few sips from his cup and nibbled at the bread. He may not have eaten in a while, but he certainly wasn't hungry for toast. The child was sick of bread -- pancakes, sandwiches, toast -- everything the adults in America offered him came with bread. He was starting to wonder if everyone in America ate a steady diet of sandwiches or if it was just expected that all children would be satisfied with bread based meals.

His mind drifted away from that train of thought as the shouting came again. The shouting was coming from above him, from some unknown room in the ridiculously large house. It came on and off periodically, but Manu couldn't really make out who was yelling or what was being said. He could only hope that Peter was alright. Mr. Petrelli was a funny sort of man, but a good man none the less. He could tell that Mr. Petrelli meant well with his affectionate touches and tender words (even if the familiar way in which he spoke to him made Manu feel uneasy), but he was slowly starting to question his sanity. After all, what sort of man would swear to protect you from a monster, then sit down and chat with the beast when it came knocking at his door? It didn't make sense.

The shouting stopped and Manu couldn't tell if that was a good sign or a bad one. He waited, holding his breath and listening carefully, but he could not hear anything. He thought for a moment that the two might have come to some sort of agreement and that worried him. He knew that no matter what the two had agreed on he would be miserable. He would probably end up living with Sylar like Mrs. Petrelli wanted, or having to deal with him on a weekly or daily basis. He didn't want to live with Sylar, he didn't want to put up with him, and he certainly didn't want to be related to him.

Miserable tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision as he once again began to pick at the slice of bread, this time balling up the pieces and throwing them across the kitchen. He hated this kitchen, he hated this country, and he hated this world that he was living in. All Manu wanted in that moment was to just go home.

"Manu?"

The child jumped, when he heard the voice. His hands instinctively pulled away from the plate of bread, dropping the crumbs on the table top as he bowed his head in shame.

"Manu, what's wrong?" Peter asked crouching down by his side to get a better look at his face. Manu was embarrassed to admit that tears were now flowing freely from his eyes in spite of his best efforts to stop them. He was so sick of crying, but it was all that he seemed to be able to do lately.

"Are you okay, angel?" Sylar pressed, kneeling down beside him and brushing the child's hair out of his eyes. He heard his former kidnapper cluck his tongue in disapproval, his eyes most likely landing on the mangled toast resting in front of him. "All that money and _this_ is what she feeds my son?"

"Back off," Peter snapped, before turning his attention back to the Indian child. "Manu, talk to me. I can't help if I don't know what's wrong."

Manu opened his mouth to speak, but the only thing that came out was a strangled sob. He sniffed, wiping his eyes roughly, before taking a deep breath and trying again. "I... I don't want to live with Sylar," he sobbed.

The two men fell silent at his words and Manu suddenly felt certain that his worst nightmares had been confirmed. His tears came harder, the sound of thunder roaring just outside the window a faint presence in his thoughts as his stomach twisted and turned with fear.

"Manu," Peter began, lifting the boy's chin and forcing him to meet his gaze. "You don't have to live with Sylar."

The child breathed a sigh of relief. He felt as if a stone had been lifted off his chest at the declaration. "Then... I can go back home?"

Peter frowned, chewing his lip nervously. "I don't know about that sweetheart," he sighed. "Your grandmother insisted that you stay here with me, it was your father's wish and she wants to honor that, but maybe I could convince her to come live here in New York. But even if that doesn't work out, I _promise_ that we'll go to India as often as possible. Holidays, birthdays, you name it we'll be there for it."

Manu nodded his head slowly. This wasn't exactly what he wanted, but it was a start. "So... I'm going to live with you?"

"That's right," his guardian smiled. "We're going to live together and I'm going to get you into a good school as soon as possible, I promise."

"But what about...?" His words trailed off as his eyes drifted over to Sylar who was busy disposing of the mangled toast and assembling a proper breakfast for Manu. He could tell that Sylar was pointedly avoiding his gaze, but was listening in on their conversation none the less.

"Well, we talked about it," Peter began carefully, "and we agreed that Sylar can come visit you, but only on weekends and only when I'm around." He paused, obviously waiting for Manu to respond, but he didn't. Manu felt his throat tighten and his stomach expand as if it were filled with spoiled milk. Peter tilted his head to the side, trying to get a better look at the boy's expression, but from the look of confusion he still couldn't really read him. "Is that okay?" he asked quietly, and Manu didn't know how to respond.

"I... I don't know," Manu answered weakly, because there wasn't much for him to say. This wasn't what he wanted, but he had known the second Peter had agreed to bargain with Sylar that he wouldn't get what he wanted. The only thing he wanted -- even if he couldn't go home -- was to get Sylar out of his life, to be as far away from him as possible and to never have to see him again.

Peter gave a long tired sigh and for the first time Manu actually felt sorry for him. He had never considered how stressful this situation had been for his guardian. It should have been obvious. After all, Peter had been nothing, but clear about his feelings towards Sylar. As far as Manu could tell, the serial killer had done something horrible to him, had probably made his life miserable for years, and now he was going to have to make a deal to invite someone he hated into his life for the sake of someone who was a virtual stranger to him.

"I'm sorry," Manu found himself saying, because the guilt was making him sick inside.

"Don't be sorry," Peter answered quickly, grasping the child's hands in his. "This is your life and I want you to be comfortable."

"I just... I don't... I can't."

Peter was silent, his face thoughtful as he rubbed the child's hands with the pad of his thumb, and Manu just wished that they would both leave him alone.

Sylar cleared his throat dramatically, tapping spatula against frying pan more forcefully than necessary. It had the desired effect as Peter and Manu both turned to give the man their attention. He stood there, back facing them and shoulders squared, as he scraped at the eggs he was making. "Give us a moment," he demanded more than asked.

His guardian scowled distastefully, before softening his features to look back at him. "I won't leave if you don't want me to," he assured him, giving Manu's hands a squeeze.

Manu looked at Sylar, then Peter. He didn't want to be left alone with Sylar, but if Peter stayed just outside the door (and Manu knew he would most likely do just that) then he would feel safe. "It's okay," he whispered. "Just... stay close. Please?"

Peter gave him a quick nod before leaning in to give Manu's cheek a quick peck. He didn't like when Peter kissed him. He didn't like anyone aside from his father and grandmother kissing him, but he said nothing. The kisses were more for Peter's sake than his.

The man got up, pinning Sylar with a warning glare (one that he pointedly ignored), before slipping out of the spacious kitchen. Once the door closed behind him, Sylar glanced over his shoulder, making sure that Peter was gone, before turning back to the stove.

He was silent for a while and it made Manu feel nervous. He couldn't really read what it meant, but he just waited, because he had no choice.

An eternity seemed to pass between them before Sylar finally turned away from the stove carrying a plate of scrambled eggs and hash browns. "Do you want some orange juice?"

Manu shrugged as his former kidnapper set the food down in front of him. "I guess."

The serial killer pulled out a glass from a cabinet and poured him some juice. Manu had to admit that it was strange to see the man moving around the kitchen with such ease, as if he was used to cooking in here, but this wasn't his home. It didn't make sense. He handed him the glass and a fork to eat his eggs and pulled up a chair beside him.

"I know this is awkward," Sylar said after a while, his eyes firmly on Manu's plate. He wanted him to eat. Manu knew from experience that Sylar hated it when he didn't eat. It was probably because of that thought that the boy picked up his fork and began shoveling food into his mouth. It wasn't terrible, but he just wasn't in the mood to eat. "But I don't want it to be. I don't want things to be awkward between us. That's why I'm willing to put up with Petrelli."

Manu frowned, pushing the bits of potato around with his fork. "You kidnapped me," he reminded him, his voice firm, annoyed. "Things will _always_ be awkward between us."

Sylar chuckled, his expression more bemused than furious (that certainly caught Manu off guard), as he leaned back in his chair. "I would argue with you on that point, but you'd just shoot right back at me." He smirked, his eyes fond. "Once your mind is set on something you stick to it. Just like your father." He scoffed before adding, "Just like your grandfather."

The Indian boy frowned, his already nonexistent appetite quickly evaporating at the mention of his grandfather. "Why did you kill him?"

The question was enough to catch the serial killer off guard. He frowned, stiffening as if he suddenly realized his mistake in being foolish enough to ever mentioning Chandra Suresh.

In truth, Manu didn't really want to know the answer. He never wanted to ask the question, because it made him sick inside to think about his grandfather. Manu still remembered very clearly the solemn, grave looks his mother and father would get whenever his grandfather was mentioned. Seeing their morose faces was enough to make him feel cold inside. Yet the only reason he bothered to allow the question to be blurted out was to change the topic. Having Sylar talk about their future made him feel so trapped, so closed in, to the point where he would have preferred to talk about _anything_ else.

Sylar gave a thoughtful sigh, considering his words carefully. "Because I was angry," he began slowly. "I wanted his... help, his approval, but he betrayed me." He paused and for a moment Manu would have sworn that he actually looked ashamed. It was almost enough to justify bringing up such a forbidden subject. "I suppose I overreacted." He added, meeting Manu's gaze as he reached out and brushed his finger tips across the child's soft cheek. The boy felt cold, his eyes instantly retreating to his hands as he suddenly realized that they were back to where they had started. "I've done a lot of horrible things in the past, but I wouldn't change anything if it meant losing you. I know you're probably not going to believe me when I say this, but I love you. I really do. And I want to do whatever it takes to give you a life that you'll be happy with. It's the only reason why I'm willing to put up with Petrelli. Do you understand that?"

Manu frowned, because there was no possible way he could ever be happy with Sylar in his life. It frustrated him that nobody seemed to understand that and what frustrated him more was the fact that he had no say. He was a puppet, a doll to be passed back and forth between Peter and Sylar. He could see his future; he was going to grow up to be bitter and resentful and completely miserable.

It was then that Sylar leaned in, his eyes and expression dark and hooded as he whispered. "We could stop it you know. There's a man who knows how to travel through time. I could take his ability and keep Mohinder from dying. It could change everything. You wouldn't lose your father and... and we could start over. Maybe... maybe you won't have to hate me."

He was tempted, very tempted, because that was everything he wanted. He could already see his father's smiling face, feel his strong arms wrapped around him in a fierce, protective hug. He wouldn't have to lose the most important person in his life. He would never have to set foot in this awful country. He could stay in the land where he was born and raised, with his complete family and all his friends.

But it was wrong. This man that Sylar spoke of would have to die so that his father could live, and even if that death was erased by changing history, it still didn't justify sacrificing someone he didn't even know just for his own happiness.

Furthermore, he would still have to be with Sylar. Sylar had been in India the day of his father's funeral, looking for the man himself no doubt. The serial killer would be in his life no matter what. That thought alone was enough to make the boy feel frozen inside.

The soft pitter patter of rain filled the air. Manu frowned, looking the man across from him in the eyes sadly. "No," he said at last. "Don't do it. It's... Father is at peace now. We should not take that away from him."

Sylar smiled, his eyes brimming with sadness and pride. "You're so special," Sylar whispered, leaning forward to wrap his arms around the child. He stiffened, not at all surprised by the embrace, but troubled by it. There was something off, something different about the way Sylar held him. It was as if they were never going to see each other again. He knew right away that Sylar had not been asking for his permission when he'd told him about his idea, he was merely telling him what he had planned, what he had probably been thinking of for some time now.

Manu frowned as he was let go and found that he could not move or speak. He was forced to just sit and watch as Sylar stood up, smiling at him sadly. "I'll make things better, I promise," he whispered, walking out the door, intent on changing their lives.


End file.
